


No Fool Like a Careless Gambler

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Depression, Drugs, Eventual Happy Ending, Gambling, Homophobic Language, Las Vegas, M/M, Nihilism, Oral Sex, Sex, Sleazy Eames, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-08 16:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Inception AU.A bored, aimless Arthur spends the summer after college working a Vegas casino. He meets Eames, a career gambler with no respect for himself or anything else. Do they have something to learn from each other, or will each of them be the other's worst decision yet?





	1. Chapter 1

“The next old lady who pinches my ass is going to get decked.” Arthur wasn’t laughing as he complained to Ariadne. They stood at the bar, waiting for their filled drink trays. It was only early evening, the casino not yet full. As usual, Arthur’s lack of seniority had him stuck serving the slot machine crowd--mostly older women. Not only did they grope him, they were lousy tippers.

Ariadne laughed. “That wouldn’t be good for your future employment.” She looked at him keenly. “You look even crankier than usual. What’s going on?”

Arthur shrugged. It wasn’t anything new. Just another day in another week in this fucking summer that seemed endless, even though it wasn’t even the 4th of July. Just another opportunity for him to realize what a colossal fuck up he’d made. “Air conditioner is out at my place again,” he said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Ariadne looked sympathetic. “It’s too hot for that,” she agreed.

While they waited in companionable silence, another waitress, Tiffani (“with an i!”) joined them. “The Brit is back,” she told Ariadne.

Ariadne giggled. “Is he winning?”

“Can’t tell so far,” Tiffani nodded hello to the bartender. “But let’s all hope so. If he’s winning, after-work drinks are on me!”

“What’s the deal?” Arthur asked, curious despite himself. “Who’s the Brit?”

Ariadne turned back toward Arthur. “He’s a steamer. Here at least once a week when he’s in town, and I think he just rolls through the other casinos in between. Sleazy, but when he wins, he’s a george.”

“I don’t think he’s sleazy!” Tiffani argued. “He’s cute. Kind of like Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven.”

Ariadne grimaced. “With a lot more chains and cheaper clothes. And worse teeth.”

Tiffani shook her head. “Spoken like a lesbian.” She looked at Arthur. “You want to take one tray out there and have a look? You can’t have my section--I’m going to make money tonight--but you can do one round.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. She wanted him to do her job, and act like she was doing him a favor? “If you take the slots for a round,” he retorted. “We’ll just switch for a few minutes.”

Tiffani shrugged. “Sure. The old ladies don’t pinch my ass!” 

When their drink trays came out, Arthur took Tiffani’s tray. A couple of g&ts, three beers, and an Old-Fashioned. He wondered if the mysterious Brit was the Old-Fashioned.

At the craps table, it didn’t take Arthur any time to figure out which player Tiffani meant. There were six players--a young couple (the g&ts), three middle-aged conference goers (the beers), and one of the more amazing looking men Arthur had ever seen.

It wasn’t that Ariadne had been wrong about the sleaze--the gambler had all the markings of a strip slimeball. He was darkly tanned, with aviator sunglasses perched in slicked back hair. He wore a light colored, short-sleeved shirt, and it was unbuttoned at least halfway, showing a large number of gold chains over a heavily inked chest. He wore a huge gold watch and rings on every finger, and his browned arms were covered with still more ink. There was a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, and his teeth were, as Ariadne had noticed, pretty terrible. But he was handsome all the same, his terrible shirt doing nothing to hide a broad, defined chest, and his face nearly perfect, with beautiful bone structure set off by an amazing, wide, full-lipped mouth. 

Arthur didn’t realize he was staring as he handed out the drinks, until he came to the man and said, automatically, “and an Old Fashioned,” as he set the glass down and picked up the empty next to it.

The Brit looked briefly away from the table. “Quite the eye-fuck,” he said. His voice was very low, but the business traveler next to him still heard it and startled. “See something you like?”

Arthur reddened. “Not sure what you mean,” he stammered. “Can I get anybody anything else right now? Tiffani will be back over in just a few minutes.” He didn’t wait for replies before he walked quickly away.

The rest of the evening proceeded much like any other. Arthur brought endless white wine spritzers, daiquiris, and margaritas to his slot machine clients, flirted as much with them as he could stomach, and stuffed his pockets full of singles. It was hard, dull work. Arthur’s mind returned several times to the handsome British gambler and how quickly he’d noticed Arthur’s staring. 

Tiffani made good on her promise for after-work drinks. After they got off shift at 4, she and Ariadne and Arthur sat at the bar, counting out their tips and gossiping. Arthur wasn’t sure he precisely liked Tiffani, but she wasn’t bad, and he definitely liked Ariadne. Having friendly coworkers was one of the only good things he could say about his job, or about his life. 

“So the Brit was winning, huh?” Ariadne asked, nodding toward Tiffani’s pile of cash. 

“He was,” Tiffani answered, holding up a few $20 bills. 

“Nice,” Ari answered. “What did you think, Arthur? Sleazy or hot?”  
“Both,” Arthur replied automatically. “But definitely not Brad Pitt.” Hotter than Brad Pitt, he thought.

Tiffani shrugged. “I don’t care how slimy he is, if he tips this well. I’m going to be able to eat on this all week!” 

“Does he talk much?” Arthur asked, keeping his voice casual. “Do you know his name or anything?”

Tiffani shook her head. “He talks a lot, but he never says anything. Just jokes and stuff.”

Ariadne turned to Arthur with narrowed eyes. “You like him!” she said, incredulous. “You think he’s hot!”

Arthur was irritated as he felt himself blush. He shrugged. “Hotter than the old ladies,” he finally said.

Ariadne shook her head. “You poor, innocent little rich boy,” she cooed. “That man would chew you up and spit you out. You need to find yourself a nice stripper.”

Tiffani laughed. “She’s not wrong. Stay away from the professionals, Arthur. They’re bad fucking news.”

***

Arthur got home at about 6am, showered, and laid down on his bare mattress. The place he was renting was an absolute dump. Every day, he kicked himself for his own stubbornness. His father had offered rent help this summer, but he’d been so pissed off, he’d refused.

When his dad told him he had to spend a summer “working a real job” before he could have any more of his trust money, Arthur initially thought he was kidding. He’d just graduated from Stanford, for God’s sake, what did he need with a service sector job? But his father stood firm, and Arthur’s half-baked plans to cash out a bond and travel the world were put on hold. Of course, the old fucker had intended Arthur to just take something local--sling coffee at one of the Valley’s million Starbucks for the summer like his sister had. But when he realized his dad wasn’t going to budge, Arthur got stubborn, and decided to do the most outlandish thing he could think of. Well, within reason. He wasn’t intending to work his ass off on a construction crew or anything like that. He had a vague memory of reading Hunter S. Thompson in high school, so he’d decided, with just that much forethought, that he was going to spend the summer in Vegas.

His dad thought the idea was stupid, of course, but said it would suffice, so long as Arthur got an actual job. He didn’t even expect Arthur to support himself--he just wanted him to experience that sort of work. Arthur wasn’t really into doing things halfway, though, so he’d turned down the apartment money his dad offered, packed up his Prius, and headed into the desert.

A month later, it was clear just what a huge mistake it was. There was nothing romantic about Vegas. It was a hot shithole, infested with bugs and people who made the bugs look good. The only apartment he could afford was a single room hovel with an air conditioner that rarely worked, and the only job he could find was one as a casino waiter, which he knew he’d only gotten because they needed a few good looking boys to go along with their stock of failed burlesque dancers. He spent his nights at work, his days trying to sleep in the heat, smoking pot, and rereading a rotating cast of sci fi novels and outdated philosophy books. His shrink back in L.A. would say he was suffering from depression. Arthur thought he was probably just suffering from the entire world being so fucking boring.

It was just because everything was so boring that the British gambler returned to his thoughts as he tried to fall asleep. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a handsome man before, and most of them had been a lot cleaner. He grew up in L.A., for God’s sake, he saw celebrities all the time! But the gambler still stuck in his mind. It was just his thick lips, or maybe his gray-green-blue eyes, or his accent. Or his broad chest and restless fingers. Before Arthur knew what he was doing, he was slowing jacking himself off, thinking of the gambler. It was welcome, actually--he hadn’t been ambitious enough to masturbate for days.

***

It was nearly a week before Arthur saw the gambler again. He kept to his dull routine, and was swimming laps in the casino pool before his shift started. One of the few perks of the job was being allowed to use the pool. Well, allowed wasn’t precisely right--nobody told him he could, he just seemed to be able to get away with it. Since the outdoor pool at his apartment complex was never actually cleaned and seemed always to be full of naked children, the casino pool was a big improvement. It was too fucking hot to run in Las Vegas, and he needed to keep in shape some way.

Coming up after his third mile to take a breather, Arthur noticed that someone was sitting in the lounge chair where he’d dropped his stuff. He was instantly enraged. It wasn’t as if his towel and shirt and book weren’t right fucking there! He didn’t have his contacts in, as they irritated his eyes in the chlorine, so he couldn’t get a good look and the person who stole his chair, but he pulled himself out of the pool to go yell at them.

“Yo, that’s my chair,” Arthur said as he approached. “My stuff was right there!”

“So it was.” The voice was smooth and British, slightly amused. “My apologies. I didn’t see how you’d be needing it while you were in the pool.”

Arthur was close enough now to be fairly sure he was talking to the British gambler. “Oh,” he stuttered, humiliating himself once again. “It’s you.”

“It is.” He thought he saw the man smile. His hand extended. “I’m Eames.”

Arthur took the offered hand automatically. “Arthur.” 

“So it says on your book jacket,” Eames replied. He was laughing. “How is Camus treating you?”

Arthur was aware of how much of a pretentious ass he appeared when he brought La Peste as poolside reading. He hadn’t expected anybody to pay him any mind. “Um, fine,” he mumbled. “I’ve read it before.”

“Of course you have.” Eames’ voice still sounded amused. “You’re a college boy, then? Looking for your invincible summer?

“Graduated this year,” Arthur replied, suddenly realizing he was standing in front of Eames dripping wet, his close-fitting swim trunks putting him more on display than he’d prefer. He might only be seeing a blurry impression, but Eames could probably see him just fine. “If you’re not going to get up, can I at least have my towel?” 

Arthur couldn’t necessarily see Eames smirking, but somehow knew. “But of course.” He rose, made some kind of gallant hand gesture, and moved out of the way so Arthur could grab his towel. “Shame as that is,” he continued, clearly referring to Arthur’s covering himself.

Arthur’s skin got hot. This sleazy stranger was hitting on him. He scowled. That was most certainly not on. “Don’t you have a table to play?” he asked, condescension thick in his voice. 

He felt that smirk again. “I do, at that,” Eames replied. “My apologies for keeping you from your swim and your book...Arthur.” The way he said Arthur’s name was intentionally obscene, long and drawn out. 

After Eames left, Arthur tried to concentrate on his book--he had an hour before he was on shift, and he didn’t feel like swimming anymore. It was no use, though. He felt foolish and irritated, which wasn’t all that unusual, but also undeniably curious, which was far less typical. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been actually curious about anything.

Arthur wasn’t necessarily an unhappy person. He’d grown up in Los Angeles luxury, his father a high-end attorney, his mother an interior decorator. He and his siblings had never wanted for anything, including affection. Though his parents weren’t precisely warm, they were the kind of people who scheduled quality time with their children into their calendars and kept the appointment. They had some ideas about installing work ethic and making sure their kids knew how lucky they were--see the gift of a Prius for Arthur’s high school graduation, rather than a luxury car--but they weren’t draconian in any way. The problem was that starting when he was about eight or nine, Arthur became mostly disinterested in his life and the things he was supposed to enjoy. Everything just seemed kind of...stupid. Toys and video games and movies could sometimes provide short-term amusement, but nothing really invigorated him long term. He tried sports, girls, and even a short stint at shoplifting and defacing public property. (That one had ended embarrassingly when he’d been caught and had to perform public service.) None of it did much for him. Running gave him a nice high, but it didn’t last, and you can only run so much.

College was slightly better. Arthur was smart--intelligent enough to both get into Stanford and handle the workload, but not so smart that it was easy for him. He studied hard and found occasional satisfaction in doing that job well. He also discovered, or at least admitted to himself, that he was gay. Allowing himself to enjoy attraction, and eventually sex, helped. It was more fun and more interesting than most things. But the drawbacks were substantial--Arthur’s tastes tended toward brawny guys, and he was once again humiliated (and assaulted) after hooking up with a football player and not having the good sense to lie about it in front of the player’s teammates. 

In his senior year, Arthur began an affair with a married professor. It wasn’t a torrid, heart-wrenching thing, at least not for him. It was a few months of occasional, not-great sex and a lot of guilty phone calls, and eventually it was clear to Arthur that this, too, was boring as hell. Since then, it had all been pretty well downhill, with each day fuzzing into the last, and none of them having much of interest to offer.

But he was interested in Eames. What did that mean, he wondered idly, staring at the pages of his book without reading? Was it merely the physical reaction of a young, healthy body that hadn’t gotten off in company in way too long? Was being in Las Vegas turning him into the kind of guy who was attracted to gold chains and pinky rings? Was there actually something worth a second look about the man himself? Arthur remembered Ariadne and Tiffani’s reactions--they would both tell him to steer way clear, which is exactly what he’d done. Still, he was kind of sorry he had driven Eames away. At least talking to him would have been something new.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan for this fic is to post short, frequent updates as I get them written, so the chapters are probably going to continue to be on the short side. I'm not fully sure how long we're looking at in total--depends on how many tangents these two run me through. In the meantime, though, look for 1-2 updates/week, I think. Potentially more if I get inspired.

The week before the 4th of July, the casino got substantially busier. As Arthur had turned out to be a pretty decent waiter, he was moved to tables with Ariadne and Tiffani and the rest. This meant better tips and sore feet at the end of the night.

The 4th was on Sunday, so by Friday night things were really buzzing. Arthur had barely had time to take a full breathe for hours when he noticed Eames at one of the tables. It wasn’t in his section, but Eames caught his eye as he walked by with a loaded tray. He didn’t quite smile, just lifted one corner of his mouth before returning his eyes to his cards.

Arthur couldn’t help but keep Eames in his peripheral view for the rest of the night. When the casino started to thin out around 1, the table where Eames was playing didn’t slow. Grabbing his next tray at the bar, Arthur jerked his chin toward the table, which was in Ariadne’s section. “Is he winning?”

Ariadne shrugged. “I’d say he’s about even, maybe a little up.” She frowned at Arthur. “Why?”

“No reason, just curious.” 

Ariadne continued to from. “Seriously, Arthur, if you’re thinking what you appear to be thinking…” she trailed off and shook her head. “It’s not a good idea. Really. Trust me.”

Arthur smirked at her. “What could I possibly be thinking? Don’t worry about it.” He grabbed his tray and walked off before she could say anything else.

In truth, though, Arthur was thinking exactly what Ariadne was worried about. Had been thinking it nonstop since the afternoon at the pool. This summer was turning into a long, monotonous, hot bust. While a tryst with a skanky gambler wasn’t exactly what Arthur had in mind when he came out here, it was the most interesting thing on the table at present. And really, why not? It wasn’t like he was seeing anybody, or had any issue with casual sex. The man had clearly been hitting on him, so why not give it a go?

Somewhere around three am, Arthur made his final decision. Eames was still playing, and his pile of chips seemed slightly larger than before. The rest of the tables had slowed enough for Arthur to take a break and approach him. 

Eames didn’t look up from his cards. “Why, Arthur. What a pleasure.” 

He didn’t exactly sound teasing, more distracted than anything. For a moment, Arthur doubted himself. Then he thought of his sad, hot apartment and the whole lot of nothing he had planned after his shift. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he murmured. None of the rest of the table appeared to be paying attention, but Arthur stole a quick glance at the dealer. What he was about to do would not be looked upon kindly by the casino management. “I get off at four,” he continued. “I’ll be at the front bar.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and walked back to his section.

Arthur waited at the bar for fifteen minutes before he decided he’d probably made a fool of himself. He sighed and gulped down the remainder of his watered down drink. Oh well. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He was irritable, as he’d been looking forward to...something happening. But whatever. He could go home, read, jerk off, and go to sleep. 

As Arthur was about to stand, Eames appeared behind him. “And so you are,” he mumbled, as if surprised Arthur would actually be there. He didn’t take the stool behind Arthur, but continued to stand behind him, so close Arthur could feel the heat from his body. “Are you settled up?” He gestured toward Arthur’s empty glass.

Arthur nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He realized he wasn’t sure what to expect. Was Eames intending to take him to his room? Did he even have a room here? Arthur had some sexual experience, of course, but this particular scenario was not one he’d ever really considered.

Eames seemed to know what he was thinking. “This is the part where you get up, and come with me,” he coached. His voice was laughing. “If that's what you intended here.” He looked down at at Arthur’s face and smiled. Arthur noticed the crinkles around his eyes and briefly wondered how old he was. “If you even know what you intended here.”

Arthur bristled. “I know what I intended,” he said sharply, pushing back his stool so quickly it would have knocked Eames over had he not hopped to the side. “Lead the way.”

Eames grinned broadly and headed toward the bank of elevators. As he walked, Arthur noticed the rounding of his ass under his awful slacks, and the broadness of his back under his too-tight shirt. This was going to be fun.

Instead of calling the elevator, as Arthur had assumed he would, Eames turned at the elevator bank and opened the outside access door. It was mostly used by servers, on their way out to smoke. It wasn’t alarmed or anything, but it was also probably not intended for guests. Curious, Arthur followed him out. The shifts had just changed, so there was nobody currently outside smoking. Eames walked right through their usual area, the ground littered with butts, and kept going. He passed the dumpsters and walked to where the outside light no longer shown, a hidden area between two arms of the casino, mostly used for sneaking in celebrities. For an instant, Arthur wondered if he should be scared--did Eames bring him out here to hurt him or rob him? 

Again, Eames seemed to read his mind. “Stop thinking,” he said. For the first time, he reached out, running his hand down the side of Arthur’s face. Arthur grimaced at what Eames must be feeling--an entire shift worth of cigarette smoke and sweat. Eames seemed unphased.

Arthur expected a kiss to be forthcoming, but it wasn’t. Instead, Eames grabbed his arms and turned his body, quicker than Arthur would have expected from someone his size. Arthur’s back was against the wall. “Get on your knees,” Eames ordered.

For a second, Arthur thought he wouldn't do it. This dude thought he could just demand a blow job, in an alley? But he was the one who had issued an invitation, and, if he were totally honest, the idea of putting his mouth on Eames’ skin made his heart race. He slipped to his knees.

Even though it was early morning, and still dark, the pavement was warm under Arthur’s knees. He tipped his head back, barely able to make Eames out in the dark. Eames’ hands were at his waist, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his trousers. He was talking. “This is what you wanted, college boy? It is. From the minute you saw me shooting craps you wanted it. If I hold out, will you beg?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Eames could see him or not, but he didn’t much care. “No,” he spit, “I won’t fucking beg.” 

Eames laughed, a soft sound in the quiet. “Then I guess I won’t hold out.” 

When Eames took out his cock, Arthur automatically shuffled forward to it. Eames was partially hard, dark and thick and uncut. It was exactly as Arthur had imagined. Keeping his own hand around the base, Eames fed Arthur the head, not letting go until Arthur was sucking gently around his entire half-hard length. Eames groaned and tilted himself forward, catching his hand against the wall and looming over Arthur.

It took only a few seconds for Eames to get hard enough that Arthur could no longer fit the entire thing in his mouth. He pulled off, breathed, and returned to the task. Closing his eyes, he took everything in--the heady smell of Eames, cigarettes and sweat and sun lotion; the bitter precome on the tip as he swirled his tongue around it; the weight of the his hardness as he pushed into Arthur’s mouth. He would start slow. It had been a while, and he wanted to enjoy this.

Eames had other ideas. He grabbed the back of Arthur’s head with the hand that wasn’t against the wall and held it, starting to shallowly thrust into Arthur’s waiting mouth. Though he’d given a reasonable amount of head in the past, Arthur hadn’t ever had someone try to throat fuck him without at least having a chat about it first, and he was not expecting it. Sputtering, he pulled off, wrenching his head from Eames’ grip.

“Can’t handle that, college boy?” Eames was still leaning against the wall, his erection only an inch or two from Arthur’s face. “Too much for you?” His tone was mocking.

Again, Arthur considered refusing to continue. He considered getting up off his knees and stomping off, with a few words thrown in for Eames’ shitty manners. He was fairly certain Eames would let him leave, that he wasn’t in any actual danger of being forced. Two things kept him from doing it: First, he was aroused. He shouldn’t be, god knows, given that he’d gotten nothing from this deal except a sore jaw, but he was. Second, he didn’t want to let this bastard think Arthur had been bested.

“Hardly,” Arthur snarked. “Don’t flatter yourself. And get your hands out of my hair.”

Eames laughed again, but did as he was told, removing the hand from Arthur’s hair and letting it fall to his side. “Anything else I can do for you, princess?”

Arthur glared up at Eames and grabbed his cock again, holding it tightly around the base and swallowing down as much as he could. He hadn’t learned to deep throat--nobody had ever asked, and it hadn’t seemed important--but damn, now he wished he had. Still, he did the best he could, making up for his limited throat capacity with good suction and a clever tongue, using his hand to match his mouth on the parts of Eames’ cock he couldn’t get down. It didn’t take long before Eames was pushing at his shoulder in what had to be a sign. Arthur pulled off just fast enough to get Eames’ come down his neck and the front of his shirt, rather than down his throat.

Eames milked himself through the last of it with his own hand, still leaning over Arthur, mindless that every drop landed somewhere on Arthur. His breath was nearly as ragged as Arthur’s.

Before Arthur was totally aware of what was happening, Eames had tucked himself back into his trousers and stood upright. He reached a hand down and pulled Arthur up. Arthur could better see his face now. “You got it all over me,” Arthur complained, wiping distractedly at his neck. 

Eames laughed and didn’t apologize. Instead, he looked pointedly down at Arthur’s trousers, where his hardness was apparent. “Much as I’d love to help you with that, pet,” he said, grinning “I’ve really got to go. We’ll do that next time.”

Arthur’s mouth fell open. Was this asshole seriously not even going to jerk him off? Before he could hide his astonishment, Eames had already turned to leave. “There’s not going to be a fucking next time!” Arthur yelled at his retreating figure. “You fucking prick!”

Without turning around, Eames raised his hand in a wave. “Sure. See you soon, Arthur!” Then he was gone.

Arthur sighed and tipped his head against the wall. He willed his dick to go down, which wasn’t too hard, considering the grossness of the drying come on his skin and shirt and how incredibly pissed off he was. He’d known he was taking a chance with a slimeball, but who the fuck didn’t reciprocate? Did the man truly not want to get laid more than once? Well, Arthur thought, walking to his car and hoping nobody would see him or notice his stained shirt, at least this would put an end to the ridiculous fantasies he’d been having. 

It didn’t, of course. To his own complete disgust, when Arthur finally got home and in the shower, scrubbing dried jizz from his skin, thoughts of Eames brought him right back to hardness. Even though the man had barely touched him, Arthur’s idiot brain could gather enough fragments to keep him going. Eames’ hand in his hair, Eames’ thick cock on his tongue, the noises Eames made when he came. It shouldn’t have done anything but make Arthur furious--which it did--but it also made him gasp as he stroked himself through climax, the lukewarm water drizzling over him from the shower head.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur had the 4th of July off. It hadn’t been intentional--he’d just done too many extra shifts earlier in the week, so the management scheduled him off rather than pay overtime. Since Ariadne was his only friend, and she was working, he didn’t have any holiday plans. It didn’t matter--he could stay in his apartment, get high, and watch the fireworks from the window. But he woke up in a foul mood all the same.

By noon it was 112 degrees, and though the air conditioner said it was running, and it was making more noise than a prop plane, it didn’t seem to be blowing air any cooler than a medium blow dryer setting. Much as he hated that he was awake, going back to sleep in the oven of his apartment wasn’t going to happen, so Arthur headed to the casino for a swim.

He swam until his body ached and his chest heaved, lap after mindless lap. He’d hoped to clear his head, which had been a constant litany of self recrimination for the past 40 hours or so, but it only got louder as he swam. How the fuck could he have been so stupid? Trying new things and looking for adventure was all well and good, but blowing a loser gambler in an alley was just pathetic. 

It wasn’t the first time Arthur had spent days ashamed after making this type of mistake. If he had balls enough to be honest with himself, he had to admit that choosing the wrong man--or letting himself be chosen by the wrong man--was a bit of a pattern. Besides the football player and the professor, there had been a clearly straight poet in his “experimental” phase and an unstable graduate student who liked to hit when he got drunk. Sure, he’d also had one night stands and short relationships that were not so degrading or dangerous, but those he looked back upon with even less affection. At the least the terrible decisions hadn’t been boring.

When he couldn’t swim anymore, Arthur sprawled in a pool chair for a rest. The pool was busy--mostly families, as it was still early in the day. For a while, he watched the people around him from behind Ray Bans, making up stories about the shitty vacations they were on and how much they couldn’t stand one another. His book was closed in his lap (this time he’d decided not to look like such a pompous prick and brought Dune), but he didn’t feel like reading. Eventually, he fell into a light sleep.

A few minute into his nap, Arthur woke to the shadow of a man standing over him, blocking his sun. He squinted up to see Eames.

“Going to fry yourself like an egg,” Eames observed. “Don’t quite have the coloring for sunbathing, pet.”

Arthur glanced down at his bare chest. Eames wasn’t wrong--he was turning pink. “Dammit,” he muttered, reaching for his t-shirt.

Eames chuckled. Without invitation or preamble, he plopped himself down on the concrete next to Arthur’s chair. Oddly, he didn’t appear to be overly warm, looking casual and comfortable in his loose trousers and half-opened shirt. The edges of his hair were damp, as if he’d just showered. Unbidden, Arthur’s nose searched for his smell, but it was impossible to find over the scent of hot cement and chlorine.

“What do you want?” Arthur wasn’t sure he meant it to come out quite so sharply as it did, but remembering Eames’ behavior in the alley, sharpness seemed warranted.

Eames grinned, showing all his wonky teeth. “You,” he said. 

Arthur rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Already fell for that one. Wasn’t great for me.” 

Eames chuckled again. “Sore about that, are you?” He gave a half-shrug. “I could make it up to you.”

Arthur hesitated. It hadn’t even been a clear invitation--more like a boast. Eames could make it up to him, but was he offering to do so. “Why would I believe that?” Arthur finally answered.

“Because you want to.” Eames moved slightly closer, putting one hand on Arthur’s knee. His palm was cooler than Arthur’s sun-exposed skin. His hand felt rough and strong. “Because you’re dying to see what me making it up would be.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s as good as you’re imagining, sweet Arthur.”

“I’m not fucking sweet.” Arthur scowled and moved his leg so Eames’ hand toppled off. 

Eames was unphased. “OK, sour Arthur,” he laughed. “You’re going to make this hard, are you? Fair enough. A proper date, then. What do you say to that?”

Arthur frowned. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Eames smiled again, as if this were all the best kind of joke and he was enjoying himself immeasurably. “Dinner. A show. Dancing. Whatever you want.”

“Why?” Arthur was suspicious. There wasn’t a single sincere thing about this man.

“Because it’s your country’s birthday! Because you’re fucking gorgeous! Because I won last night and I want to spoil someone!” Eames reached for him again, this time running a finger down the side of his face, like he had before. “Come on, Arthur! I’m not asking you to marry me. You don’t have any plans tonight, do you?”

Arthur bristled. “Of course I do.”

“Then cancel them. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up.”

Arthur shook his head. He already knew he was going to do it. Not because Eames was so stunning, sitting there in the sunlight. Not because he truly had nothing else to do and couldn’t afford to buy his own nights out anyway. Not because he was flattered by the attention and the overblown compliments. Because he was curious, that was all. “I’ll meet you,” he said, finally. He pursed his lips like it had been a particularly bad bargain.

Eames grinned again. He smiled like a fucking loon. “Fair enough. Joel Robuchon. 8 o’clock. And tell your roommate you won’t be home for breakfast.” He winked.

“I don’t have a fucking roommate.” Arthur realized after he said it that he’d just agreed to stay the night with Eames.

“Of course you don’t.” Eames nodded sagely. “See you later, Arthur.” He licked his lips in a way that had to be intentional, and sent desire spooling through Arthur anyway. “I’m looking forward to it.”

All afternoon, Arthur went back and forth about whether he should just stand Eames up. It was the smart thing to do. Still, just the prospect of eating at Joel Robuchon made the idea hard to bear. Arthur hadn’t actually been properly taken out often--maybe not ever. Before he’d been sure about his preference for men, he’d had a few awkward dates with girls, but he was too young at the time for it to be a big thing. Since then, his relationships (and non-relationships) had tended more along the lines of club and party hook-ups than anybody asking anybody else out. The idea was both comfortingly old-fashioned and somehow exciting and new. When he got into the shower and 6pm, running through his available clothing options in his mind, Arthur gave up the pretense that he wasn’t going to show up. 

The restaurant was packed, which wasn’t surprising. When Arthur arrived, Eames was standing outside the door waiting. He was wearing gray trousers and a light jacket, the sleeves pushed up, the lavender shirt underneath half-unbuttoned, his gold chains shining. He looked like an extra from fucking Miami Vice. He also looked fucking amazing.

“Arthur!” Eames grinned at him, reaching out and settling one palm on the small of his back as he guided him toward the door. “You look stunning!” 

Dressing for the evening had stressed Arthur out. He hadn’t brought many non-casual clothes, and those he did have were more suited for clubs than for fancy meals. He had one suit, stuffed in at the last minute by his mother because “you never know,” but it was very formal and a bit conservative. He finally decided on the suit pants, which were a nice, slim cut, with no jacket. He skipped the tie, too, wearing his dark red button down shirt open at the collar. When he’d looked at himself in the mirror, he felt younger and dumber than he’d prefer, but there was really nothing to be done about it. “Thank you,” he mumbled, trying not to concentrate too much on Eames’ palm on his back. 

At the front of the house, Eames smoothly asked for the table for Mr. Robertson, and he and Arthur were led to a prime seat. “Eames Robertson?” Arthur asked, eyebrow raised.

Eames chuckled. “Of course not. Won the reservation off a geezer in a card game.” 

The food was as good as it had been reputed to be--the truffled langoustine ravioli was the best thing Arthur had eaten since his graduation dinner. The more surprising part was that Eames proved himself to be an absolutely charming conversationalist, doing all the work of keeping the meal moving and light. He told hilarious stories, one after another, and though Arthur wouldn’t have laid money on any of them being true, he laughed so hard he had a stitch in his side. In between outlandish tales, Eames asked questions about Arthur’s life and interests, in a way that seemed nothing like prying and everything like simple curiosity. 

“What did you study?” Eames looked at him quizzically. “Something practical, I bet. Engineering or maths?”

Arthur laughed and took a sip of his wine. They were on their second bottle. He wasn’t drunk, but his head did feel a bit light. “Hardly. Much as my parents would have preferred that. No. Art.”

Eames’ eyes widened. “Art! Why art?”

Arthur shrugged. “I wanted...to understand. I’d been to Paris and Venice and all that with my family, seen the Met a couple of times, but I felt like we were just scratching the surface.” He sipped his wine again. Something about talking to Eames made his mouth dry. “Not exactly marketable, though.”

“Thus your exciting career in casino drink slinging?”

“No. That’s just for the summer.” Arthur sighed, not sure he should go into this, but the wine and good food were working their way through him and he felt relaxed. “I’ve...got a trust fund. A decent sized inheritance. But my father won’t sign it over until I’ve had a summer of what he calls ‘real work.’” 

Eames rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers delicately. “So you’re just serving your time, and then you’ll take your place among the idle rich? Pretty nice deal.”

“Not exactly.” Arthur reddened a bit and was irritated with himself. There was no fucking reason to be embarrassed about his grandfather having left him money. “It’s not that much--I’ll have to work eventually. But it’s enough to travel, maybe start a business...I don’t know.”

Eames shook his head. “You really have no plans at all? No idea what you want to do with your windfall?”

Arthur shrugged again. “Plenty of time to figure it out.”

“The folly of youth.” Eames rolled his eyes. “So, dessert then, posh boy?”

Once they’d finished their dessert and coffee, Eames asked the waiter for the check. Then he looked at Arthur. “Head out front, grab a cab, and wait for me there, yeah?”

Arthur wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Are you going to ditch me?” After the effort Eames exerted to get him to come out, it seemed odd he’d bail.

“God, no. Farthest thing from it. I will be out in two shakes, promise!” That smile again. It was beginning to make something shake in Arthur’s chest.

Despite his better judgement, Arthur waited outside. Only a moment after he’d hailed the cab, Eames returned, not from the restaurant’s entrance, but from the side. “Hop in, love!” he called as he neared, clearly in a rush. 

It wasn’t until the cab was a couple of blocks away that Arthur pieced together what happened. “Holy shit! Did you just leave the bill!”

Eames’ eyes widened. “Why would you think I’d do something so uncivilized, Arthur?” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Honestly, I can’t imagine what you think of me.”

Arthur stared at him, unsure whether he was joking. 

Eames smirked. “I’m afraid Mr. Robertson isn’t going to be welcome at Joel Robuchon anymore.” He shrugged, false sorrow on his face.

Though he probably ought to have been horrified, Arthur wasn’t. Instead, he laughed, his eyes wide and his heart racing. “Didn’t you say you just had a big win and wanted to spend it?” 

Eames shrugged. “Sure. But this way is more fun, don’t you think?”

Arthur couldn’t argue that.

In the taxi, Eames presented Arthur with a choice in entertainment. As was typical for a holiday in Vegas, there was a boxing match, but other shows were also available, as was dancing. “The city is your oyster,” Eames said, gallantly. “You must but tell me what you prefer.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile. He’d never been “wined and dined,” as it were, and it wasn’t a completely unpleasant experience. “No boxing,” he said.

“No taste for violence, pet?” Eames raised an eyebrow. 

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “No taste for sports, really.” He thought briefly of the football players at Stanford.

“Fair enough. Comedy, perhaps? Or something altogether different?” 

“How is it that you can get in anywhere?” Arthur asked. “This stuff is usually sold out for weeks!”

Eames grinned that wide, slightly maniacal grin. “Question not my methods,” he whispered.

They ended up going dancing. Arthur hadn’t wanted to push it, but he loved dancing, and Eames picked up on the twinkle in his eye when that option was presented. The club was extremely crowded and very noisy, but neither of them appeared to mind. For a few minutes, they stood near the bar with their drinks, watching the dance floor. Arthur noticed how fast Eames’ eyes moved from one person to the next, as if he needed a read on everybody in the writhing crowd before he was comfortable. After a few minutes, he put down his empty glass and extended his palm. “Alright,” he said, smirking. “Show me how it is.”

Arthur was surprised at how well Eames kept up with him. Given his age (what was his age, anyway?) and apparent fondness for sitting at card tables all day and night, he’d expected the exertion to be a problem. Eames matched him with easy rhythm and no self-consciousness, slipping his hands easily to Arthur’s hips after a few minutes, then pulling his body closer. It took only two songs before they were grinding together, Arthur’s face growing hot as he felt his cock harden. Eames had him cradled back against his chest, grinding against his ass a bit more slowly than the music really demanded, his lips close enough to Arthur’s for his breath to tickle. “Was this what you had in mind, then, pet? Rubbing against my cock with your ass? Do you want me to make you come with all these people right here?”

Before Arthur could answer, Eames hand moved from his hip to the front of his trousers, his thumb stroking up Arthur’s erection. Arthur hissed and leaned back against Eames harder, letting him tighten his other arm around Arthur’ waist as he stroked. It was clear to anybody who was watching what was happening--neither of them made any attempt to hide it.

Finally, Arthur gathered his wits enough to pull away and turn to face Eames. As expected, Eames was grinning, looking pleased to have made an impact. “Do you want to leave then, darling?” He tilted his head. The chains around his neck shone under the strobe lights. “Or just find a dark alley?” He raised an eyebrow.

“That was a one-time thing,” Arthur snapped, the embarrassment of the incident returning. “I’m not a whore.”

“Of course you’re not,” Eames replied smoothly. He took Arthur’s hand again. “Come on, let’s get a cab.”

Arthur had no idea where he was being taken, and he knew that should concern him, but it didn’t. It turned out the ride was short, just back to the Bellagio. Without paying much attention to the packed casino floor, Eames let him to the elevators and up to one of the top floors, where he opened the door to a large suite. 

Arthur looked around. Had he been mistaken about Eames’ status as a fairly low-level gambler? This was far nicer than he’d been expecting.

Reading his thoughts, Eames grinned. “Same geezer as the reservation,” he said. “Man just didn’t know when to stop.” 

Arthur shook his head in wonder. “Must have been quite the game.”

Eames shrugged. “Just another game, love.”

As he looked around the room, Arthur noticed a couple of strange details. One was the lack of luggage-where was Eames’ stuff? He was about to ask when he noticed the other. On the coffee table was a pile of wallets. There were maybe eight or ten of them, all different types of leather and levels of wear. As Eames watched him with interest, Arthur picked one up and opened it.

Arthur wasn’t surprised by what he saw. No cash. Credit cards, a picture of a middle-aged couple with two teenagers. And a driver’s license for Kevin Thompson.

“You’re a pickpocket?” Arthur didn’t really need to ask the question, but he felt he should be clear. “A thief?”

“I’m many things,” Eames replied. He moved toward Arthur until he was very close behind him, closed his hand over Arthur’s, and returned the wallet to the table. “But yes, that would definitely be among them.”

As he had in the cab, Arthur tried to make himself care. Stealing with wrong, obviously. But he wasn’t the one doing it, so did it really matter?

Eames watched his face a moment, then smiled, seeing something there that Arthur hadn’t even seen himself yet.

“I could turn you in,” Arthur said. His voice was louder than he’d intended. Eames hadn’t moved from behind him.

“You could,” Eames agreed. “I’d be gone before it was ever a real problem, but it would certainly be an annoyance.” He didn’t sound concerned.

Arthur turned to face him. He’d expected Eames would back away, but he didn’t, and there were only inches between their faces. It occured to Arthur that he hadn’t been kissed yet--hadn’t felt those wide, soft-looking lips. He wanted to. “I won’t,” he said, his voice much softer now.

“I know.” Eames grinned, this time just half a smile. His eyes were on Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur felt the kiss coming, but he never arrived. Instead, Eames turned and walked toward the TV console, opening a drawer. “Now,” he asked, “would you prefer this,” he held up a bottle of Scotch, “or this?” The other hand held up a small bag of white powder.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur hadn’t ever done many drugs, besides smoking pot. He’d tried molly a couple of times, and eaten some mushrooms once (they just made him sick). He’d known people who got into coke in high school, that was life in the Valley, but hadn’t ever even been offered it himself.

Eames took his hesitation for disinterest. “No pressure,” he said, tossing the bag back in the drawer. “Just giving you options. Shall we pick up where we left off at the club?”

“No,” Arthur said softly, his eyes straying back to the still-open drawer. “I’d...I’d like to try it.” He knew he ought to play it cooler, pretend he had done it before, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to sell that. Eames seemed to pay such close attention.

“OK,” Eames shrugged, setting the bottle down and retrieving the bag. “Works for me.”

Arthur hadn’t expected it to hit so fast. When he smoked pot, it took a few minutes to start to feel it. Eames laughed at his wide-eyed response, snorting his own line neatly and without fanfare. “Can we dance again, here?” Arthur asked, his words tripping over each other.

“Don’t have any music here, love,” Eames said, rising from the couch and moving toward Arthur as he spoke.

“Don’t care,” Arthur mumbled, already standing and pushing his body toward Eames’. “Just want to move with you.”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

For a moment, they were dancing. Or something like it. Arthur didn’t feel very coordinated, but it didn’t matter. Eames was pressed hard against him, and his body felt amazing. Arthur’s heart beat fast. “Kiss me,” he said, surprised at himself.

Eames kissed him long and hard, his lips insistent. Eames’ hands roamed freely over Arthur’s body, cupping his ass, running up his spine. Arthur arched into it, then reached between them to palm at Eames’ cock. He wanted everything, immediately.

Eames laughed into his mouth. “Patience, pet,” he murmured, backing Arthur up toward the bed. “Get your kit off. I want to see you.”

Arthur stripped as quickly as he was able. He knew, vaguely, that he should be embarrassed by his own anxiousness, but he wasn’t. It didn’t matter anyway. None of this was real, none of it made any difference.

Eames watched with interest, running his eyes all over Arthur’s body. Arthur was as close to tan as he ever got, just a little golden glow. It wouldn’t even be noticeable if the line where his swim shorts ended wasn’t so glaring. Eames moved forward and reached out, tracing the border between tan and white around his thigh. Arthur held his breath as Eames wrist moved within centimeters of his erection.

“You have to take your clothes off, too,” Arthur gasped, reaching for Eames’ shirt buttons. 

“Gladly.” Eames backed off just enough to give himself the space to undress. He continued to watch Arthur as he stripped. His gaze was wolfish, and Arthur shivered a little bit under it. 

Eames was a gorgeous man when dressed. Naked, he was astonishing. His whole body was tan, no lines anywhere. He was thick and well-muscled and covered in swirls of mostly-black tattoos. His chest was lightly dusted with curling brown hair, and a trail of it ran from his navel to his slightly darker pubic hair. Arthur stared without reservation. 

Eames grinned and moved forward again, pushing Arthur gently back onto the bed, then crawling on top of him. He kissed just as forcefully this time, rubbing his body against Arthur’s. The friction, unfocused as it was, made Arthur’s head spin. He worried that he’d come just from this. 

Eames finally pulled away. “It’s dealer’s choice, darling. Tell me what you want.” 

Arthur swallowed. He’d actually planned on refusing to let Eames inside him. Earlier, when he’d had some sense of self-preservation, he’d known it wasn’t the smartest idea. That was long gone now, though. “Fuck me,” he said.

Eames grinned. “You sure?”

Arthur nodded.

“You’ve done this before, right?” 

Arthur scowled. “Fuck. Yes. I’m not a teenager.”

“You sure look like one,” Eames muttered, sliding his body off Arthur’s and rising off the bed. He found his trousers and retrieved a condom and a packet of lube from the pocket.

“Is that what this is about?” Arthur asked. “You get off on jailbait?”

Eames glared as he crawled back up the bed. “No, actually. You’re too fucking young for me as it is.” He winked, of all things. “But I’ll make an exception. Now scoot back and turn over.”

If he hadn’t been high, Arthur would have been embarrassed to turn onto his hands and knees for this man he barely knew. As it was he was too aroused to care. He was having too fucking much fun to care. He moaned as Eames’ slick finger entered him, leaning back into it. 

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Eames whispered from behind him. “You’re not lying about not being new to this, right?”

“Fuck you,” Arthur spit. “It’s been a while, is all.” He arched his back. “I’m not gonna break.”

Eames took him at his word. He worked quickly and efficiently, opening Arthur up with expert fingers. “God, look how you respond,” Eames muttered, scissoring his fingers. “You’re gorgeous.” 

Arthur barely registered the compliment, focused as he was on Eames’ fingers, and on not coming. It had been a long time, and he’d never had this done as well as Eames was doing it. Finally, he had the presence of mind to pull away. “I’m ready,” he said, though it came out as more of a moan. “C’mon.”

Eames didn’t argue. He pushed the front of Arthur’s body down against the pillows and pulled his hips up higher. “Rise up for me, there’s a love.” He pushed Arthur’s thighs further apart. His face in the pillows, Arthur heard Eames rolling on the condom and slicking himself up. “OK, here we go.” 

The first push was slow, and Arthur was glad of it. Eames’ dick had seemed big in his mouth, but it seemed huge now. It didn’t feel good at all, just like relentless pressure. Arthur bit down on the pillow and held as still as he could, waiting. Eames held his hip with one hand, the other stroking absently over his lower back. “Relax,” he said softly. “You’ll be OK. Just relax for me.” He rocked gently, letting Arthur get used to him, continuing to rub his back. 

“I’m OK,” Arthur moaned into the pillow, pushing back against Eames experimentally. It was still uncomfortable, but getting better. “You can move.”

Eames moved slowly at first, only drawing himself out a couple of inches before he slid back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur was surprised at his gentleness. For the most part, though, all he could think about were the sensations overcoming him. The coke seemed to make everything sharper, more in-focus. When Eames started to go deeper, Arthur moaned loud into the pillows, pushing back harder in response. 

“There you are,” Eames said, grabbing both of Arthur’s hips and pulling him back. “Fucking beautiful.” He pushed harder, holding Arthur steady so he wouldn’t move away. Then Eames twisted his waist, and Arthur felt detonations inside him.

“Fuck, FUCK, FUCK! There, right there.” Even muffled by the pillow, Arthur’s voice carried across the room.

“Oh Christ, you’re a screamer,” Eames said, delighted, bucking against Arthur harder. “That’s right. Scream for me.” He drove in, hitting that spot over and over again, grinding against it. 

Arthur didn’t know he was going to come before it happened. He was flying, his eyes squeezed shut, babbling and yelling, riding the waves of pleasure, and then he was thrusting forward, his cock hitting the mattress just as his orgasm began.

Eames followed Arthur down, grinding into him and pushing him against the bed as he came. He didn’t let up, his pace relentless, fucking mindlessly into Arthur’s shaking body. After Arthur was finished, Eames picked his hips back up, forcing him back to his knees. “Not finished with you yet,” he grunted, continuing to drive in.

It was too much, but Arthur couldn’t make words. Instead, he panted into the pillow and swore softly, all his nerve endings blazing, needing nothing so much as a moment of reprieve. It didn’t last too much longer, though, and soon Eames was groaning, thrusting into him the last few times, then stopping.

Arthur fell flat onto the bed the moment Eames let go of his hips, forcing Eames out of him more quickly than was comfortable for either of them. Eames made a disgruntled noise, but then laughed breathlessly, rolling over to his back next to Arthur. “Christ, you’re sensitive,” he commented, taking a few deep breaths before he got up to throw the condom away. “Coming off without a hand.”

“It’s you,” Arthur blurted, not realizing he was saying it until it was already out. “I’ve never come like that before.”

Eames hummed a little pleased sound and climbed back on the bed. He hadn’t brought a cloth or anything to clean up, and Arthur was starting to be aware of the puddle he was lying in. Eames traced a line down Arthur’s spine and he shivered.

“Bet you can go again right away, too, can’t you?” Eames asked. When Arthur looked up, Eames’ pupils were wide.

“Yeah, probably,” Arthur said. Even as he said it, he felt his spent cock start to twitch. “But you can’t.”

Eames shook his head. “We’re not all so young as you, jailbait.” 

Arthur glared up at him. “I am twenty-fucking-three years old.”

“Are you, now? Why, that’s practically geriatric.” Eames rolled his eyes. “Turn over.”

Arthur turned over, making a face at the mess smeared across his stomach.

“None of that,” Eames chided. He slid down, making room for himself so he could lay on his stomach, his face at Arthur’s navel. “Never be disgusted by yourself.” He threw Arthur a grin, then dipped his face down, licking the spend from Arthur’s belly. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur moaned, surprised. Eames’ tongue was incredible, running slowly over his skin, lapping at his belly button. “Goddamn.” He felt Eames smile against him, then run a stubbled cheek over the newly cleaned flesh. 

Eames teased a long time. First, he licked every bit of Arthur’s come off him, except for the part that was still on his cock. Then he nuzzled against his thighs, kissing them and rubbing at them with his face until they were hot and red with beard burn. Then he dipped lower, taking Arthur’s balls in his mouth, weighing them on his tongue, lapping at them, flicking the tip of his tongue against them. Arthur was fully hard again, dripping, and pushing himself towards Eames’ face gracelessly, when Eames sat up and smiled at him. His face was wet, his lips swollen.

“Jesus Christ, please?” Arthur panted, his hips still lifting off the bed of their own accord. 

Eames smirked. “What a little slut you are, dear Arthur.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Alright.” He lowered his head again.

When Eames’ lips pursed around his cock, Arthur thought he heard explosions. Lights flashed behind his closed eyes. He’d been blown before, obviously, but this was something on another level. Whether it was the drugs or Eames, he had no idea, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was the overwhelming tide of pleasure. It didn’t last long--Eames swallowed him expertly, and Arthur moaned and fisted the sheets under his hands and, before long, gasped “I’m going to come!” Eames pulled away and barely had time to wrap his hand around Arthur’s cock before he was coming on himself for the second time.

Arthur was only half-aware of Eames getting up as he floated through his post-orgasm haze. When he opened his eyes, Eames was standing at the full-length window looking out, the blinds open. He was still naked, smoking a cigarette, illuminated by the flashing strip lights. “Eames,” Arthur asked. “Were there...fireworks?”

Eames chuckled and turned back to face him. “Yes, love. That wasn’t just me. It’s your Independence Day, remember?”

Arthur laughed, too. “Right.” He was pretty sure it had actually been both.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur spent the first 24 hours coming down from being high, working a miserable shift, and reminding himself over and over that he was in this for the experience, that he’d had an amazing, exhilarating night, and that he expected nothing more.

None of that stopped him from looking for Eames around every corner. Nor did it stop him from feeling disappointed when he didn’t see him. One day turned to two and then three, and Eames didn’t show back up in the casino, or by the pool. Arthur spent even more time than he had before there, pretending it wasn’t because he was hoping to be found.

At first, Arthur intended to keep the whole encounter to himself, knowing Ariadne would be judgmental about it. But after most of a week, he was bursting to talk about it, and getting grumpier every day. Finally, after yelling at Ari about something inconsequential and clearly hurting her feelings, Arthur knew he needed to either confess or lose his only friend in Las Vegas. He asked her to come to his apartment after their shift and talk. She scowled, but accepted.

Arthur and Ari spread out side by side on Arthur’s crappy mattress on the floor, passing a pipe back and forth. It was hot and miserable, and the air coming from the AC unit was barely cool. “OK,” Ariadne said, “are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on with you, or do I need to guess?”

Arthur sighed. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Clearly.” She frowned and took the pipe from his hand. “But you also clearly need to talk about it, so spill it.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Remember the george? The British guy?”

Ariadne nodded, looking even more skeptical.

“He asked me out. 4th of July.”

“And you went?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I did. And it was…” he considered being less than honest, but figured he may as well come out with it if he’d come this far. “It was amazing, actually. I had a fantastic time.”

“Did you sleep with him?” 

“Yes.” Arthur tried to force the blush from his cheeks. He was a grown man, there was no reason he should be ashamed to have had consensual sex.  


“Were you safe?” Ariadne’s brow was furrowed.

“Of course! Jesus, I’m not stupid.”

“Good.” She was still frowning. “Have you heard from him?”

Arthur shook his head. “To be fair, though,” he said, “he doesn’t have my number or anything. I kinda forgot.”

“But Arthur, he knows where you work,” Ariadne pointed out, as if Arthur hadn’t already thought of it. “If he wanted to get in touch, he could.”

“I know.” Arthur looked down, messing with a thread pulling from his cheap sheets. 

“And you’re upset that he hasn’t?” Ariadne prompted. 

“I guess,” Arthur admitted. “I mean, I didn’t expect any different. But still...I thought he had a good time.”

“He probably did,” Ariadne replied.

“And now he’s over it and on to the next one,” Arthur finished for her. “Yeah, Ari. I get that.”

Ariadne looked awkward, like she wasn’t sure what to do, but then she put the pipe down on the floor and rolled toward Arthur, gathering him up in her scrawny arms and hugging tight. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Arthur tried to shake her off, but she held on. “Let me up,” he grunted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she answered, finally pulling away. “You’ve been a mess all week.”

Arthur glared at her, but his heart wasn't in it. She wasn’t wrong.

“Arthur, this shit happens to all of us,” she said, her voice taking on a soothing quality. “It’s part of being here. There are so many of them, and they can be so charming. But they’re all bad news. You’re probably lucky you didn’t get robbed.”

Arthur shook his head. “It wasn't like that, Ari. He was really…” he looked for the right word. “Courtly? Or something?” 

Ariadne laughed. “You mean, opening doors and stuff?”

“Kinda? I felt like I was being wooed.” He’d already decided that the blowjob in the alley wasn’t a part of the story she needed to know.

“That’s great, and I bet it was fun, but…” she shook her head. “It’s not real with them. Nothing is real with them except the tables. You know that.”

Arthur nodded. She’d told him that on his first day, and repeated it over and over since then. Ariadne had been in Vegas for about a year, and Arthur hadn’t heard the full story of her first few months, but she’d clearly been hurt badly somehow and had since learned her lesson. 

She moved back toward him and threw an arm around him again. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to sleep. You’ll feel better when we wake up.”

Arthur smiled at her inviting herself to stay. It was nice not to be alone.

***

For the next couple of days, Arthur felt a bit better. It wasn’t like he was in love with Eames or something, he told himself. He was sorry not to have more of the good time he’d had, but disappointment over that, with a side of being ashamed at himself for thinking it was more than it was, could only hold him down for so long. The problem was that without the new distraction of Eames, he returned seamlessly to his previous ennui. Having one night where everything wasn’t boring just made it clearer how fucking boring everything was.

Just as Arthur was settling back into the tedium, Eames reappeared. It wasn’t at the casino or the pool this time. Rather, there was a knock on Arthur’s apartment door at three in the afternoon. Arthur was sitting on the mattress in his underwear, reading, trying not to think about how hot it was. Frowning, he got up and peered through the peephole.

“Fuck!” Arthur looked around for something to put on and ended up with yesterday’s dirty uniform pants, the first thing at hand. He buttoned them quickly and opened the door. 

Eames looked the same, tan and smiling, Aviator glasses in place, gold chains glistening around his neck. “Arrrrrrthur,” he drawled. “So good to see you.” Even behind the glasses, it was clear he was raking his eyes over Arthur’s bed head, exposed chest, and dirty trousers. 

Arthur frowned, feeling far more exposed than he ought to in his own home. “Eames,” he said, keeping his voice cold. 

Eames grinned. “Don’t give me that tone, love.” He peered around Arthur, trying to see the room behind him. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Arthur scowled, but took a step back. Eames walked past him into the apartment and looked around curiously.

The place was only a small step up from squalid. It was gross regardless, so Arthur made no attempt to keep it neat. There was one main room, a tiny kitchen, and the door leading to the bathroom. The sheet was half off the mattress on the floor, clothes and books were piled everywhere. Empty bottles littered the counter and grease congealed on a pizza box next to them. It was hot, and it didn’t smell all that great.

Eames raised an eyebrow. “Lovely flat,” he said, smirking.

“Nobody forced you to visit,” Arthur retorted, digging into a pile of clothes for a shirt.

“Now now,” Eames said, moving toward Arthur and stopping his hands. “There’s no need to cover yourself up.” He looked around again. “Hot as balls in here, innit?”

Arthur snorted, but let the t-shirt drop from his hand. “What do you want, Eames? And how did you know where I live?”

Eames grinned again, like some kind of disreputable Cheshire cat. “Easy enough to find out,” he said. “And I’m here because I wanted to see you.”

Arthur felt a chill run through him and tried valiantly to repress it. “Why?” he asked, pressing his lips together to keep himself from offering a more honest response.

Eames looked at him searchingly. “Oh, I see,” he said, his voice going softer. “You’re mad. Are you mad, dear Arthur?”

Arthur scowled. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s taken me this long to find you?” Eames guessed. He looked around, seemingly for a chair, which Arthur didn’t have, then pushed some bottles aside and hopped up to sit on the counter instead. 

“You weren’t under any obligation,” Arthur began, trying to keep his voice level.

Eames laughed. “Not about obligation though, is it, pet?” He spread his legs and reached his hands out. “Come here.”

To his surprise, Arthur walked forward, stopping just out of range of Eames’ arms. He was still scowling.

“Oh Arthur, don’t do that,” Eames said, lowering his eyes and sticking his bottom lip out just a little. “You’re too cute when you scowl. I’ll jump you if you don’t stop.”

Arthur’s scowl turned glare. Was he being made fun of?

Eames pushed himself forward enough to close the gap and grabbed Arthur’s waist, pulling him in and then boxing him there with his thighs. “I am truly sorry it has taken me so long to get here,” he said, his lips only inches from Arthur’s ear. “There were other things I had to take care. Just a bit of trouble to put to rest.”

Before Arthur could ask about the nature of the trouble, Eames’ mouth was on his neck, Eames’ nose nuzzling at his hairline. “All taken care of now, though,” he murmured, then ran a stripe up Arthur’s neck with his tongue. “And here I am.”

Arthur thought, fleetingly, of Ariadne and her well meant advice. He should kick this man out now and never think of him again. But his blood was already running hot, his body already responding. He tilted his head back to give Eames better access, then groaned softly as Eames licked up his throat. One of Eames’ hands moved from his waist to grab his ass through his trousers and push him forward a bit more. Arthur sighed and wrapped his arms around Eames’ neck. Not like he had anything better to do.

An hour later, they were lying on Arthur’s mattress, the sheet completely off. Arthur had pulled his underwear back on when he went to get a towel to clean up, but Eames was still fully naked, lounging against Arthur’s only pillow. His lips were red and puffy--once Eames had started kissing him, Arthur hadn’t let him stop. He looked relaxed and amused, but also like he might at any moment decide to pounce, like an oversized house cat.

“So what was the trouble?” Arthur asked. He was looking at the cracks in the ceiling, increasingly tensing as he prepared himself for Eames to get up and leave.

“Nothing important,” Eames answered, rolling over and meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding. Like I said, all cleared up.” He grinned. “Do you work tonight?”

“Yeah.” 

Eames nodded. “OK. Meet me after, then?”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. He honestly hadn’t expected that. “I’m not off until 4,” he said.

“I know.” Eames shrugged. “We’ll have a drink. I’ll buy you breakfast. Whatever you want.” 

Arthur considered. “OK,” he finally said. 

Eames reached toward him and ruffled his hair. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

Arthur blushed. He wasn’t used to people telling him that. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t hate what he saw, but he’d never thought it was anything special. Certainly nothing like Eames. “So are you.”

Eames sat up and stuck out his chest, wiggling a little. “Right? How lucky are you, all of this?” He grabbed his cock lewdly. “You must have been a very good boy.” Then he laughed, loud and clear. 

Arthur couldn’t stop smiling.

Eames did buy him breakfast, and then did the same the next morning, appearing out of nowhere just moments after Arthur’s shift ended. Ariadne saw them that time, and shot Arthur a disapproving look as he walked away, but Arthur ignored it. She was probably right, but he didn’t care.

Being with Eames was easier than just about any interaction Arthur ever had. Eames was always genial, always kind, and seemed fascinated by the things Arthur had to say. He’d rarely met someone so interested in him, in his thoughts. After a few meals together he was telling Eames things he didn’t expect he’d ever tell anybody. 

When he wasn’t with Eames, Arthur thought about the oddness of the situation. He wasn’t blind--he knew something about Eames was off. Though Arthur told him more and more about himself--his family, his friends, his disillusionment, his aimlessness--Eames said very little about himself. When he wasn’t with Eames, Arthur reflected on not knowing where Eames lived, or if he supported himself in other ways besides gambling and picking pockets, or even his phone number.

“He probably has a wife and two kids somewhere in the Midwest,” Ari told him. “That or he peddles kiddie porn. Get the fuck out of it, Arthur. I don’t care how good he is in bed.”

But Arthur couldn’t make himself stop. When he was with Eames, nothing else mattered, and he didn’t care if Eames had a wife or a warrant out or was homeless or was selling drugs or any of the other scenarios with which his imagination readily supplied him when he was alone. It wasn’t just the sex--although the sex was something Arthur never could have imagined was possible. It was everything else. It was how Arthur felt more totally alive and totally himself when he was with Eames than he ever had before. It was how he was, finally, having a good time.

After they’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, Arthur felt brave enough to ask a few questions of his own. They were in Arthur’s sad apartment again, lying in the mattress, high. Arthur was loose and relaxed, having just received an incredible blow job. Eames was on his stomach, his head against Arthur’s belly, running his finger absently over the skin. 

“Hey, Eames, can I ask you something?” Arthur’s voice was nervous.

Eames glanced up, his forehead momentarily wrinkling. “Of course.”

Arthur smiled, hoping it made it look like the question was no big thing, not something he’d been worrying about for days. “Um,” he swallowed. “What’s your first name?”

Eames laughed, his body rolling pleasantly against Arthur’s. “You had to work up to that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Jesus, Arthur, what did I do to make you think you couldn’t ask that?” He chuckled some more.

“Well, you didn’t offer it,” Arthur said, frowning. 

“True.” Eames nodded. “It’s awful. If I tell you, you’re never going to let me put my dick in you again.”

It was Arthur’s turn to laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Promise?” Eames sat up. 

“Promise.” Arthur couldn’t help but smile at him.

Eames extended his hand in, as if they were just meeting. “William Percival Chandler Eames the Third, at your service.” He rolled his eyes.

Arthur laughed, grabbing the extended hand and using it to pull Eames on top of him. “That’s...quite a lot of name.”

Eames shook his head. “There are rules, my sweet American boy. Rules about how we are named. And if you ever call me any of those names, or even remember them, I will spank your lovely bum.”

Arthur groaned. “No, you won’t.” 

“Won’t I, though?” Eames nipped his lips, not kissing him, but teasing. “Best not to try me, love.”

Arthur laughed and leaned in to the kiss. The rest of his questions could wait for another day.


	6. Chapter 6

Eames disappeared again. Until it happened, Arthur had been able to convince himself that it didn’t matter that he had no way to get in touch with Eames, that Eames always sought him out. But once three days had passed with no sign of him, Arthur was kicking himself. Would it really have been so hard to ask for his goddamn phone number?

He didn’t tell Ariadne. She’d already made her position on whatever he was doing with Eames perfectly clear, and he wasn’t in the mood for “I told you so.” Instead, he stewed silently, having long, heated conversations with Eames in his head, in which he put his foot down and demanded answers, demanded to be treated differently. 

This time, it was nine days before Eames reappeared, showing up at the casino. He looked a bit worse for wear, with deep circles under his eyes and a paler, greyer tint to his skin, but he was the same smiling, teasing Eames. 

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Arthur said coolly. Eames had seated himself in front of one of the slots in Arthur’s section, slowly feeding it quarters and waiting for Arthur to come over. When it was clear he wasn’t going to run out of quarters anytime soon, Arthur gave in.

“Had to go on a little business trip,” Eames said. “God, I missed you.”

Arthur tried to ignore the heat that ran through him. He rolled his eyes. “Did you want a drink?”

Eames frowned. “Oh Arthur, please don’t be like that. I’ll explain, after you get off. I promise.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “I have plans,” he said, curt. He wasn't going to do this again. The last nine days had been too fucking unpleasant, and he’d had too much time to consider how much he didn’t know about this man. 

Eames reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding it gently. “Please, Arthur?” He looked up with tired eyes, searching Arthur’s face. “I wouldn’t have disappeared if I’d had another choice.”

Arthur pulled his wrist away, but not as forcefully as he’d have liked. “I’m not at your beck and call,” he hissed. “Now, I’m working. What will you have?”

Eames stayed at the slot machine for the rest of the night. At one point, Arthur thought the house manager was going to move him along, but Eames must have sensed that, too, as he produced more quarters. He even won a couple of times--enough to keep playing, anyway. Arthur brought him occasional drinks and tried to ignore him, but he made it difficult.

When the shift finally ended, Arthur tried to go out the back and avoid a confrontation. Eames guessed the move, though, and was waiting, leaning against Arthur’s car, smoking. “Trying to give me the slip?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Something like that,” Arthur muttered. “Can you please move?” 

“Sorry, love. I’ll leave as soon as you let me explain, but I’m not going to let you go without hearing me out.”

Arthur glared. “It’s not your decision. Fuck off, Eames.”

Eames frowned, as if only just realizing how serious Arthur was. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Arthur. Really.” He sighed, and Arthur noticed again how tired he looked. “I didn’t want to leave. I had to lay low for a bit, go out of town and collect some funds.” He met Arthur’s gaze with clear, honest eyes. “Had myself in a bit of hot water here.”

Arthur nodded slowly, catching on. “The bookies?”

Eames nodded. “Sometimes these things get out of hand. Couldn’t resurface until I was sure I’d be keeping all my parts.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Arthur pursed his lips. “You couldn’t have given me call? Sent me a text? Let me know you weren’t dead? Or that you hadn’t decided to go back to your family in the midwest?” He knew as the words tumbled out that he’d be sorry he said them, but couldn’t seem to get his filter turned on.

Eames looked briefly perplexed, then chuckled. “Oh, shit. Is that what you thought?” He reached toward Arthur and hooked his fingers in Arthur’s front belt loops, pulling him in. Arthur didn’t struggle. “I don’t have a family, in the midwest or anywhere else, and I didn’t abandon you. I just wanted to make sure you were kept out of it, is all. I wasn’t sure how closely I was being monitored.” He tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “The truth is what you already knew--I’m a degenerate gambler and sometimes I lose more than I have.” He met Arthur’s eyes again. “Can I kiss you now? Please?” His bottom lip stuck out slightly. 

Arthur knew it was a mistake, just like he knew everything with Eames was a mistake. There was no reason for him to believe he wasn’t being lied to, wasn’t being manipulated. But just like before, he didn’t care. He leaned in, and let the kiss turn from sweet to hot before he pulled away. “If we’re doing this again,” he said, trying to regain his breath, “then there have to be ground rules this time. I’m not going to be fucking blindsided again.”

Eames nodded. “Whatever you need, love.” He nipped at Arthur’s lips, playful. “Just tell me what you want.” 

The next few days were pure bliss. Arthur spent nearly every minute he wasn’t working with Eames. When Arthur started asking questions, Eames answered with unexpected openness, telling Arthur about his estranged family in London, his various unsuccessful attempts at higher education, and his current life, traveling and gambling. “I am a charlatan, my love,” he said, laughing. “Never let it be said I pretended otherwise.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ariadne hissed, seeing Arthur kiss Eames goodbye in front of the casino one evening before their shift started. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“It’s really no big deal,” Arthur said, his tone placating. “I’m just having fun. I’m not in any danger, and I’m not expecting anything.”

Ari shook her head and groaned. “Even if I believed you, that wouldn’t be enough. Does he have access to your apartment? Your credit cards? Your mail? These guys are capable of fucking up your life even without hurting you emotionally.” Her face was dark. “Tell me you’re at least still using condoms.”

“You are so fucking nosy,” Arthur grumbled. “Yes, using condoms. I swear, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Is the sex really that good?” Ariadne asked later, when they’d gone on their break. “Is it really worth the risk?”

Arthur didn’t bother to reprimand her for being up in his business. She was just that way. Instead, he answered honestly. “Ari, the sex is amazing. I had no idea it could be this good.”

Ariadne leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Fuck. You’re not going to break it off, are you?”

“No reason to,” Arthur answered. “But the summer isn’t that much longer. And who knows what happens then.” He was trying not to think about it.

After a week or so, it was clear to Arthur that Eames wasn’t just doting on him--he was hiding. He spent most of his time in Arthur’s shabby apartment, and didn’t seem to be hitting the casinos at all. Arthur had no idea what Eames was doing during the nights when he worked. 

“Eames?” Arthur asked. They were on the floor of his apartment. It was mid-afternoon, both of them fighting the heat as best they could in only their underwear. Eames was reading one of Arthur’s paperbacks, stretched out, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah?” He looked up and Arthur was once again shocked by just how gorgeous he was. 

“What’s going on?” Arthur frowned and pushed himself up, moving to sit cross-legged. “What are you doing?”

Eames pretended not to understand the question. “I’m reading,” he checked the title, “Survivor, by Octavia…”

Arthur cut him off. “You know that’s not what I mean. What the fuck are you doing? Are you in hiding?”

Eames groaned and put the book down. “Not exactly,” he said. 

“Gonna need more than that.”

“Arthur, this really doesn’t need to be your problem.” He sat up, his posture suddenly defensive.

Arthur glared. “It’ll be my problem when you get chopped into little pieces. Now tell me what the fuck is going on.” To soften the words, he moved closer to Eames. He didn’t want to fight, he just wanted to know.

Eames sighed and reached out an arm, pulling Arthur into his side. It was really too hot to cuddle, but Arthur didn’t pull away. For a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed in Eames’ smell. It was sweaty, a little stale, but not unpleasant.

“OK,” Eames finally said. “Remember when I was gone for a few days, and I said I needed to gather some cash to get the sharks off my back?”

“Of course.”

“Well, that was just enough for a temporary reprieve.” 

Arthur looked up, surprised. He’d assumed that part was all taken care of. “Fuck.”

“Indeed. Fuck.” Eames gently pushed Arthur’s head back down against his chest. Arthur wondered if it was easier for him to talk about this without having to see his face. “So, I’m still in need of some money. Rather a lot, actually. And while I work on getting it, I am trying to keep a low profile.”

“That’s very vague,” Arthur pointed out.

Eames chuckled. “Like I said, it’s not your problem. It will all work out in the end.”

Arthur was quiet a minute. He wondered how much money, exactly, Eames needed. He thought about the trust fund that would be his in just a few short weeks. He thought about Ariadne’s warning. Finally, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Before I answer that, I need to be sure you really want to know,” Eames said. His voice was quiet and serious, more so than Arthur ever remembered it being. “You have every right to stay out of this, and I’d prefer you did. But if you’re sure you want to know, then I’ll tell you.”

Arthur didn’t need to consider. “I want to know,” he said, firm. “Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“OK.” Arthur felt Eames swallow, the motion tensing his whole chest. “In two weeks, I am going to rob a whale.”

Eames must have realized Arthur would sit up, as he slid his arm out of the way as soon as Arthur moved. Arthur stared at him. “You’re going to do what?”

“There’s a man, a Mr. Saito, who comes over from Japan a couple of times a year to try his luck gambling in America. He’s a huge fish, and he deals in cash--has some sort of superstition about casino credit. He’s due in a bit less than two weeks. And I’m going to rob him.”

“You’re not talking about stealing his wallet, here, are you?” Arthur knew it sounded stupid as he said it, but he was having trouble hiding his shock.

“No, pet, I’m not.” Eames looked at him with soft eyes. “But it will be fine. This is within my scope of talents.” He pulled Arthur toward him again. “Is that something you can live with? Because if it’s not, I should go now.” His face and voice were still more serious than Arthur would like.

Arthur thought again. It wasn’t great. It was dangerous, certainly. But was it really any worse than nicking wallets from tourists? In the grand scheme, it was probably better--someone like Saito could afford to lose whatever he brought. Arthur pushed back the voice in his head telling him he was making excuses. “Yeah,” he said, reaching back toward Eames and wrapping his arms around his neck. “That’s something I can live with.”

Eames smiled and pulled him closer. “You like this, don’t you?” he asked, rubbing his face against Arthur’s cheek and whispering close to his ear. “You like getting off with a disreputable thief. It turns you on.”

It did. There was no use lying. “So?” Arthur challenged, climbing into Eames’ lap and wrapping his legs around Eames’ waist. “You like it, too. Getting off with a rich college boy.”

“Fucking love it,” Eames agreed, moving one hand between them to tease at the waist of Arthur’s briefs. 

Arthur tilted his head back and let Eames’ mouth attack his neck, moaning softly when he felt teeth against his collar bone. “Show me,” he whispered into the stuffy air. “Show me how much you love it.”

Eames pulled back, pushing and pulling Arthur until he was arranged on his back on the mattress, then pulling his underwear down his legs. “What a beautiful college boy you are,” he mused, reaching to the side of the bed for the lube. “Always so ready for me.” He slicked his hand, then worked it over Arthur’s erection, teasingly. He ran his thumb around the crown and smiled when a bead of precome appeared. Arthur held his breath as Eames moved his wet fingers lower, ghosting over his balls, then pushing behind them.

Eames took a long time with his fingers. Arthur thought he might love this part best, but he’d never mentioned that. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if Eames knew. Sometimes, he was in a rush, desperate to get inside. This time, he spent forever slowly opening Arthur up, teasing his prostate, then backing off, then doing it again. Arthur was wild by the time he removed his fingers, soaking wet, covered in sweat, and begging. 

“OK, OK, I’ve got you,” Eames said, rolling a condom on as he spoke. “Tell me how you want it, love.”

Arthur paused. All he wanted was Eames inside him, immediately. “Any way,” he gasped. “Just fuck me.” 

Eames smiled and pulled up onto his knees between Arthur’s thighs, then grabbed Arthur’s ankles and pulled them up to his shoulders. “You posh boys,” he grunted, as he began to push inside, “are so wonderfully bloody flexible.” He bottomed out nearly immediately, pulling Arthur’s hips hard into him.

“Ahh, fuck!” Arthur surprised himself with his scream. Later, he’d hope his neighbors had the decency to be out of their apartments in the middle of the afternoon. “Jesus Christ, Eames.”

Eames immediately set a brutal pace, pulling Arthur up and on to his dick with each thrust. Arthur was vaguely aware that it hurt, and that it was probably bruising him, but all he could really focus on was sensation, Eames’ cock feeling thick and steel hard inside him, the motion Eames was forcing from his body. He felt himself slip away, loose and limbless, just a vessel for Eames’ pleasure. 

Eventually, Eames let go of one of his hips and got a hand on him, but it really wasn’t necessary. It didn’t take more than a light squeeze before Arthur was coming, only faintly aware it was happening. His head was so far gone he didn’t even register it when Eames stopped, pulled out, and pulled off the condom. “May I, darling?” Eames asked, and Arthur was nodding before he even understood the question.

Eames only stroked himself a few times before his climax hit, and he came on top of where Arthur had already covered himself. Forcing his eyes open, Arthur watched, rapt, as Eames’ hand moved mercilessly, pulling the last drops from himself. Eames’ eyes were open, watching his come hit Arthur’s skin. His face was flushed, and he swore softly.

The force of the heat came back like a punch as Arthur floated back into himself. He could barely breathe, he was so hot. The cooling come on his belly felt like tar. “Ug,” he groaned, reaching aimlessly over the side of the mattress for something to wipe himself with. “That was unnecessary.”

Eames laughed, rummaging until he found a t-shirt and tossing it to Arthur. “Maybe, but it was good fun,” he said. 

Wiping at his stomach uselessly, Arthur glared at him. “You say that because you’re never the one covered in jizz.”

Eames grinned. “That’s true. But if you would like to cover me in jizz, darling, I’m all yours.”

“Big fucking romantic,” Arthur snorted, tossing the t-shirt toward a pile of dirty laundry. “Bet you say that to all the guys.”

Eames raised his eyebrows as he picked his book back up. “Only the ones I adore, my Arthur.” 

Arthur got up and headed toward the shower, telling himself to stop feeling so warm inside. It didn’t help.


	7. Chapter 7

Once the post-sex high wore off, Arthur was less comfortable with the idea of the robbery. He didn’t say anything to Eames, but it nagged at him for a few days. It seemed different than lifting wallets or dine and dashing. If nothing else, it was certainly more dangerous and would carry a higher penalty if Eames was caught.

On Tuesday, Arthur was unexpectedly dismissed from work. A scheduling mistake left too many servers on the floor, and the one with the least seniority was sent home. Normally, Arthur would have complained about this, as it meant a short weekly paycheck. He couldn’t find it in himself to be too put out, though, as it promised an unexpected evening with Eames. Already, Arthur could feel the summer drawing short, and already he worried about what happened in the fall. 

Arthur assumed Eames would still be where he’d left him, lounging on the mattress, reading. When he approached the apartment door, though, he heard voices. He couldn’t make out the words, but at least one of them was definitely not Eames. Someone was with him in the apartment.

As he reached for the handle, various options played out in Arthur’s mind. The most likely, he tried to convince himself, was that Eames simply had a friend stop by. It was a bit odd--Eames had never mentioned any local friends--but it was possible. Another, less ideal, possibility was that Arthur’s landlord had finally come to investigate who was spending so much time at Arthur’s place, which he’d emphasized was only to house one person. Even less ideal, though, was the option on which Arthur’s mind immediately fixated--Eames had another man in there. While Arthur was at work, Eames was fucking someone else. 

Arthur braced himself and opened the door. Inside, the light was still dim, the blinds drawn against the setting sun. Eames was standing, pacing across the small room. Two men stood near the door. One was large and bulky, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The other was smaller, his face pinched and pockmarked. His was the voice Arthur had noticed, but he trailed off the minute Arthur walked in, turning to stare at him.

Eames’ eyebrows shot up, momentarily flustered. “Arthur! You’re meant to be at work.”

“I got sent home,” Arthur said slowly, turning his head to take in both men and scan the room for others. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, darling,” Eames grinned, recovered from his shock at seeing Arthur. “Just needed a chat with these fellows.”

The pock-marked man scowled, first at Arthur, then at Eames. “I don’t need to tell you what the consequences will be if you don’t perform,” he said, his voice lower than before. “This is your last chance, Mr. Eames.”

Eames nodded sharply, his eyes darting worriedly back to Arthur. “Message received,” he said crisply. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to make the most of an extra night with my boyfriend.”

Despite his concerns at the strange men in his apartment, Arthur’s stomach rolled pleasantly at the word “boyfriend.” 

The smaller man scowled harder, but finally stepped around Arthur toward the door, the larger following close behind. “We’ll be in touch,” he said as he exited. 

Arthur waited for the door to click shut, then to hear the footsteps fade away, before he looked directly at Eames. Before he could speak, Eames had crossed to him. “Wonderful that you’re off tonight,” he said brightly, wrapping his arms around Arthur. “What shall we do with the time?” He started to pull Arthur’s shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. 

Arthur pulled away, holding Eames at arm’s length. “You need to tell me what the fuck that was about,” he said. He was pleased to hear his voice sounded firm. “Why were those guys in my apartment?”

Eames frowned, reaching back for Arthur’s waist. “Not much to tell. Needed to talk to them, so I had them ‘round. Didn’t realize you’d mind.” 

Eames sounded so breezy and unconcerned, Arthur was tempted to allow the brush-off. A voice in the back of his head argued that it was cowardly not to confront Eames when Arthur knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “That’s not gonna work, Eames,” he said, pulling further away. “What was that man talking about? What consequences? What last chance?”

Eames frowned and exhaled through his nose, then pulled a hand through his hair. “It really doesn't concern you. Let it go. Please?”

Arthur scowled. “Damn well concerns me if it’s happening in my apartment. Just tell me, Eames.” But when Eames reached back out for his hands, he allowed them to be held.

After thinking a moment, Eames pulled Arthur toward the mattress, then down onto it. “It’s like I said before,” he said, slowly. “I’m in a bit of a tight spot and need to make some cash. Those blokes were just giving me some instructions on how to get it.”

“You mean the robbery?” Arthur saw no reason to be coy. “They’re helping with the robbery?”

Eames shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.” He paused, choosing his words. “They work for the...customer.”

Arthur frowned. “The customer?”

Eames sighed and met Arthur’s gaze. “It’s not just me stealing some cash and using it to pay my debts. It’s...gotten more complicated. This man, Saito, he has something else they want. Some kind of information. Documents.”

“And you agreed to do the robbery to clear your debt?” Arthur was beginning to catch on.

Eames nodded. “Agreed is a strong word. Didn’t have much of a choice.” He shrugged. “Apparently these documents are worth more than the money to them.”

Arthur was uneasy. “Do you have any idea what they are?”

Eames shook his head. “Don’t really want to know. Saito is here in a week. I get into his room, get the goods, get out, and then this is all over. Cock up corrected and on to the next thing.” He reached out and rubbed his thumb over the crease between Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it, pet. It’ll be fine.” 

Arthur pulled away from Eames’ thumb, irritated. “How can you be so calm? Is this normal for you?” He wasn’t quite sure why, but the appearance of the men in his apartment had made everything Eames confessed much more real. Too real.

“Don’t be sulky, love.” Never easily deterred, Eames reached for Arthur again. “It’s going to be a lark.” 

“I don’t want those people in my apartment again.” Arthur hated that he sounded uptight. He didn’t pull away from Eames’ hand this time.

“Loud and clear,” Eames answered. “No need to meet with them again, anyway. I have my marching orders.” A brief look of concern crossed his face. Arthur didn’t miss it.

“What’s wrong?”

Eames shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Eames, for fuck’s sake. Just tell me.”

Eames looked indecisive. Arthur scowled. “Eames, tell me the rest or I swear to God I will kick you out.”

Eames grinned. “You wouldn’t do that.” He ran the hand cupping Arthur’s cheek down the side of his neck, his thumb gentle over the hollow of Arthur’s throat. “It’s nothing important. I’d hoped to recruit some help with the nick. Got turned down.”

“You can’t do it alone?” Arthur tried to ignore where Eames’ fingers were working open his shirt buttons.

Eames shrugged. “Gonna have to. Just not sure how yet.” He appeared bored by the conversation, more interested in divesting Arthur of his clothes.

Arthur finally reached a hand up to stop Eames’ exploration. “Just...just wait a minute. We’re not done talking about this.”

Eames sighed. “We should be. There’s nothing to talk about. Except why you’re still wearing so many clothes.”

“Eames, this isn’t a joke.” Arthur knew he still sounded uptight, but damn, wasn’t it something that deserved to be taken seriously? “If you can’t do it by yourself, how are you going to get them what they want?”

Eames shrugged again. “I’ll figure something out.” If Arthur wasn’t mistaken, the lightness of his voice was false.

“Is there anybody else you could ask? Someone you could split the cash with?” Arthur was worrying his lip with this teeth, his mind spinning. “Do you have...associates, here?”

Eames laughed. “You make it sound like I’m in the mob. I’m a gambler, Arthur. I don’t do associates.” He reached once again for the buttons. “Unless you’re volunteering, the subject is closed.”

Arthur pulled away for real then, staring at Eames with wide eyes. “Me? You want me to help you rob someone?” He scooted back on the bed, as if afraid to be too close to Eames.

Eames pursed his lips, irritated. “I want you to stop talking and let me undress you. Failing that, sure, I’d like your help with this job.” He gestured at the new space between them. “But I’m not going to force you. Jesus, Arthur. What do you think I am?”

Arthur was quiet. He really didn’t know what Eames was, he thought. This was insane. He was in over his head. But he forced his mind quiet, and moved slowly back toward Eames. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out. I just...I can’t rob somebody, Eames.”

“Of course not,” Eames agreed, pulling Arthur the last few inches toward him. “It was a stupid idea. Nevermind me, I’m not making sense. I will figure something out. You don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Arthur smirked when Eames ruffled his hair, but didn’t argue when his fingers returned to the buttons. They could talk about it later. There was no point in wasting their night.

***

Eames was restless. “Come on,” he urged Arthur. “Get up and get dressed. We’re going out tonight.”

Arthur raised a sleepy eyebrow. It wasn’t late--only about 9--but he hadn’t expected this energy surge. “Where are we going?” he asked as he sat up.

“You’re going to learn some things.” Eames’ eyes were twinkling. “Add to your summer skill set.”

Arthur looked skeptical. “What things?”

“You’ll see.”

An hour later, they were sitting at one of the bars at the Venetian. Arthur felt silly in a red silk shirt, a couple of buttons undone. “I’m going to go away for a while,” Eames instructed, his voice close to Arthur’s ear. “You’re going to see how long it takes for someone to buy you a drink.”

Arthur snorted. “This isn’t teaching me something, Eames. I know how to get my drinks paid for.”

Eames nodded. “Good. Nobody who looks like you should be buying his own drinks. But we’re still starting with Lesson One. Go to it.” 

Before Arthur could argue, Eames disappeared.

Thirty minutes later, Arthur was stirring his second drink in irritation, a middle-aged, but well-preserved woman having claimed the seat next to him. He was fairly sure she wasn’t what Eames had in mind, but he hadn’t specified. Arthur was listening to her with half his attention, wondering if Eames had just used this as an excuse to fuck off to a poker table. Eames reappeared silently, taking the stool on the woman’s other side and shooting Arthur a surreptitious glance from under his eyelashes. Arthur didn’t acknowledge him. 

“So, that was my third husband,” the woman finished, looking at Arthur coyly. “Men are scum, honey.”

“Ahh, now, not all of us, love.” Eames ignored Arthur completely and focused on the woman. As Arthur watched, he moved incrementally closer to her. “Surely there are one or two good ones?” His hand was right next to hers on the bar.

Arthur bit his lip in amusement as Eames smoothly turned the woman’s attention from Arthur to himself. He chatted her up effortlessly, and after five minutes (Arthur timed it, he couldn’t help himself), she was making flirtatious references to her big, empty room. For a moment, Arthur was worried Eames was going to take her up on it, but he suddenly shifted, smirking at Arthur.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Eames said as he stood, slipping back into his jacket. “But I’m afraid Arthur and I have somewhere we need to be.” 

Shocked, Arthur rose as well. Apparently the game was over. 

The woman didn’t look as surprised as Arthur would have expected. She just shook her head a bit and clasped Arthur’s hand for a moment. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, dear,” Arthur heard her mutter as they walked away.

Back out on the street, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “Show-off,” he said, giving Eames a playful push.

“Don’t assume you can’t learn anything from a master, pet,” Eames replied. Then, as Arthur watched, he opened his palm to show the coiled diamond bracelet inside it.

Arthur didn’t even bother trying to make himself feel guilty. The night was warm and breezy, the lights on the strip were bright, and Eames was grinning. He let himself relax into it. “You going to teach me how to do that?” he asked, pulling close to Eames and nipping quickly at his lips.

Eames laughed. “That’s several lessons off yet, I think.” He winked ostentatiously. “But I have another idea.”

Their next stop was Caesar’s. It was crowded. After circling the floor casually for a few minutes, Eames leaned in with instructions. “You’re going to distract the girl at the coat check,” he said.

“What do you mean, distract?” Arthur frowned. That didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun, honestly.

Eames rolled his eyes. “I mean get her away from her counter, my naive young friend. Unless that’s too much for you.”

Arthur scowled. “It’s not too much for me.” He knew he was being baited, but didn’t care. The alcohol from his drinks at the Venetian was flowing through him, and he was, more than anything, drunk on the mischief in Eames’ eyes. “How much time do you need?”

Eames grinned. “Good boy. No more than a few minutes.” He walked away.

Arthur focused on his target. The coat check girl was young, probably about his age. She looked bored and surly. He could work with that. Chatting up women may not be second nature to him like it was to Eames, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve all the same.

It took about fifteen minutes before Arthur had convinced the girl--her name was Sandy--to leave her post and join him outside for a cigarette. He flirted with her lightly, keeping her eyes on him and her mind off her job. When she reluctantly went back inside, he dutifully put her number in his phone. Then he stood at the curb and waited for Eames.

Eames appeared a few minutes later, calm and collected. He flagged down the valet and smoothly handed him a ticket, along with a folded bill. Arthur watched, astonished, as a silver Lexus LS pulled up and Eames walked around to the driver’s seat. “Coming, darling?” Eames asked, smiling.

Arthur had no idea what else to do, so he opened the passenger door and climbed in.

It took nearly two blocks of staring dumbstruck at Eames’ grinning face before Arthur could speak. “Eames,” he asked, his voice struggling to remain even, “did you just steal a car?”

“Technically Arthur,” Eames replied, switching lanes quickly to head toward the highway, “we just stole a car.” 

It was over the line. So, so far over. But then the windows were down and the highway was before them. The desert stretched out and the lights started to fade and Arthur knew, in his heart if not in his head, that he’d likely never feel this free again.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was starting to come up over Red Rock Canyon and Arthur had completely lost track of time. He was stretched out on his back on the ground, separated from the elements by the ridiculous fur coat they’d found in the back seat of the Lexus. Eames had been taking him apart for what could easily have been hours. Just now, he was mouthing gently at Arthur’s mostly-soft, already-spent cock, coaxing him slowly back to hardness. Every inch of Arthur’s skin buzzed, his eyes only vaguely able to take into the slightly brightening light.

“Jesus, Eames,” Arthur whispered. He hadn’t been able to trust his voice for quite some time. He struggled to sit up, to reach for Eames.

“Shhh, darling,” Eames murmured, pulling off for a moment. “Just lay back.” 

Arthur gratefully sagged back to the ground. Eames was usually slightly selfish in bed, demanding his own pleasure in a way that bordered on ruthless. This was something completely different. Wherever it came from, Arthur wasn’t going to turn it down.

After Arthur resigned himself to having been party to grand theft auto (which happened shockingly fast, all things considered), the night had been near-perfect. They’d driven for miles, all the way to Death Valley. They’d stopped for greasy diner food, then returned to Red Rock Canyon, where Eames laid Arthur out and began overwhelming him with pleasure. Romantic wasn’t a word to which Arthur had ever given much thought, but romantic was exactly what it had been, and what, as the sun rose, it still was.

“God, but you are a gorgeous thing,” Eames said, some time later, when he’d drawn yet another orgasm from Arthur’s exhausted body and Arthur had finally called him off, knowing he couldn’t stand another minute. The hand job Eames received in reciprocation was sloppy, at best, but he didn’t at all seem to mind. Now they were lying together, only half-dressed, watching the sun take its place in the sky. “You are stunning.”

Arthur blushed. Eames told him often how nice he was to look at, but it was still unfamiliar to his ears. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, my dear Arthur,” Eames replied. He picked up Arthur’s hand, toying with it, his eyes downcast. “It has been a really lovely few weeks with you.”

Arthur frowned. The air of finality in the words hadn’t been in his head, had it? “What do you mean?” 

Eames looked up, meeting Arthur’s eyes squarely. “I’m going to have to leave,” he said. “There’s no way around it. I can’t do this robbery on my own, and there isn’t any place in Nevada that will be safe once they realize I haven’t held up my end of the deal.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, about your apartment. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay somewhere else. They may not believe you when you tell them you don’t know where I’ve gone.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Wait. You’re…leaving? Now? Today?”

Eames nodded. “You’re going to have to bus it back. Should be easy enough to catch a tourist bus from here. I’ll drive a few hours, then trade this car for something less conspicuous.”

Their amazing night suddenly made more sense, and Arthur went hot with anger. “This…” he gestured at his still mostly-naked body, the fur coat, the car, the sun over the mountain. “This was all goodbye?”

Eames smiled, a little sad. “Seemed better than just leaving.” He reached a hand out and ran it down Arthur’s face, a gesture he’d repeated so many times since the night in the alley. “I’m going to miss you.”

Arthur’s chest hurt fiercely. He’d studiously avoided thinking too much about Eames leaving, about the end of the summer, because he’d known he would feel just this way. He hadn’t expected to have to face it so soon. It was barely August! “Don’t leave,” he said. “Don’t miss me. Just don’t leave.” He knew he sounded like a child.

“I have to, pet.” Eames sounded patient, and as if he’d expected this reaction. “If I stay, it won’t be safe for either of us. I can’t figure a way to give them what they want.”

Arthur felt like screaming. “You said it was just a robbery. You said it was something you could do!”

Eames nodded. “It is. And I could. But not alone. With where Saito stays, and the security, there is no way to make it work without at least one distraction.” He shook his head. “I’ve been over and over it, trying to figure out a plan that had at least some chance. But there’s nothing.” He tilted his head, looking at Arthur intently. “If there were any other way, I’d stay. You know that, right?”

Arthur shook his head violently. “No. No. That’s bullshit. You could stay if you wanted to. You’re just leaving. You’re leaving because you want to.” He knew it wasn’t fair and didn’t make sense. Nobody in Eames’ profession would leave Las Vegas behind if they had another choice. He hated himself for it, but he thought he might cry.

Eames’ frown deepened, and he began to look angry. “Arthur, don’t be a spoiled child. You know better. I want to stay. I...I want to stay with you.” He looked at his hands again. “I haven’t often felt this way, you know? Like you know who I am, and you...you want to be with me anyway.” He looked embarrassed, but continued. “I love being with you. I’d stay with you as long as you’d have me, if I could.”

Arthur knew he was going to say it before it came out of his mouth, but hearing it still surprised him. “Then stay. Stay and I’ll do the job with you.”

Eames’ eyes widened. “What? No. Fuck, Arthur, no. I was off my head when I said that before. I can’t drag you into this.” He shook his head vehemently. “No.”

Arthur met Eames’ frown with one of his own. “Why the fuck not? It’ll be just like the coat check, right? I distract someone, you do you thing, and we’re out of there. Probably even easier.” He reached towards Eames, mimicking the gesture he so often used, running a finger down the side of his face. “Let me help you.”

Eames pulled back a bit. “Really, Arthur, that’s so kind. But I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not the same thing as the lark with the car. This could be real trouble.”

Arthur didn’t look away. “I get that. Though I can’t help but point out that’s not what you said the last time we talked about this.”

Eames smiled. He looked suddenly tired, the now-bright light magnifying the shallow lines around his eyes. “I lied. I didn’t want you to worry about it.” He licked his lips. “Saito, he’s...a big deal. These people aren’t playing.”

Arthur sighed, tipping his head back and thinking aloud. “Do you think they’d wait any longer for the money?” he asked. “Until, say, September?”

Eames looked confused. “Not without proof it’s actually on the way,” he said. “Why?”

“Because that’s when my dad signs over my inheritance.” Arthur met Eames’ eyes again. “How much do you owe, exactly?”

Eames grinned and shook his head. “Oh, my darling Arthur. You are...incredible. But I can’t take your money.” He paused. “And even if I could? It’s too late. They’ve decided this job is what they want. These documents, whatever they are. I couldn’t buy myself out now even if I were willing to clean you out. Which I am not.”

“OK,” Arthur said, firm. “Then we’re back to where we were before. You’re not leaving. I’m not letting you. We’ll do this together.” He straightened his spine and wished he were a bit less naked. “I’m not afraid.”

Eames looked at him adoringly. “You’ve got some bollocks for a posh boy.” He exhaled through his nose. “OK. We’ll talk about it. We’ll go back to the city, and we’ll talk about it. I won’t leave today.”

Arthur grinned. That was good enough for now.  


***

“‘Lo?” Arthur grabbed his phone on what had to be the last ring before voicemail, after digging it out from under a pile of clothes. He’d been fast asleep.

“Arthur.” His father’s voice was clipped and quick, as always. There was noise in the background--he was calling from the car. “Did I wake you?”

“Um, yeah,” Arthur said, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding the phone. “Night shift, remember?”

“My apologies.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I am calling because we received some mail addressed to you that I thought you might want to know of.”

Arthur frowned. Eames was sitting now, too, looking at Arthur and listening to his end of the conversation with curiosity. This was the first time all summer Arthur had heard from his father, so Eames had never before had the opportunity to observe their interaction. 

“Uh, OK?” Arthur had no idea what mail could possibly be important enough to warrant a phone call.

“It is from the University of California at Berkeley,” Arthur’s father continued. “Your mother took the liberty of opening the envelope.”

Then Arthur remembered. He’d sent the application and then been waitlisted so long ago, he’d nearly forgotten all about it. He hadn’t even told his parents. “Oh,” he said, voice suddenly small. 

“Are you OK?” Eames asked, quietly but not so quietly as not to be picked up by the phone.

“Arthur, is there someone there with you?” His father didn’t sound mad, exactly. More surprised and maybe...curious?

Arthur panicked. He had no idea why. It wasn’t as if his parents didn’t already suspect he was gay, or as if he wasn’t an adult who was allowed to sleep with whomever he pleased. But he still panicked. “No, dad, that was from outside,” he said, too quickly.

Eames shot Arthur an unexpectedly hurt look, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he rose and started silently looking for his clothes.

“OK,” Arthur’s father continued. “Well, the long and short of is that you were accepted, Arthur. The UC Berkeley College of Engineering would love to have you join their Civil Engineering program.” It was always difficult to tell, especially over the phone, but he sounded proud. 

“Oh, wow.” Arthur was stunned. 

“Am I to assume that’s where you will be headed when the summer is over?” 

“Um...I…I don’t know.” 

Arthur could almost hear his father’s smile turn to a frown. “Surely you want to attend,” he said. “Isn’t that why you applied? I looked it up last night. It’s the #1 program in the country!” The pride was unmistakable now. Arthur hadn’t really heard it often enough to recognize it, but there it was.

“Yeah. Of course. But that was months ago…” Arthur trailed off stupidly, he attention caught by Eames putting on his shoes. 

“Has something changed?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Arthur sighed. “Look, it’s just a bit of a shock, OK? I just need to take it in.”

“Well, don’t take it in for too long.” Arthur heard the engine cut off--his dad must be at the office now. “They need your answer in two weeks. I’ll have your mom email you the information.”

“OK.” Arthur watched helplessly as Eames left the apartment, not even turning to say goodbye.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur frowned down at the blueprint rolled out across the table. “Are you sure that’s where his security will be?” 

Eames considered, rubbing absently at his chin. They’d pushed their greasy plates away and were both on their sixth or seventh cup of diner coffee. Late had turned to early outside, the traffic slowly picking up. “Can’t see where else they’d be,” he muttered. “Are you seeing something I’m not?”

“Maybe here?” Arthur asked, pointing. “No direct access into the room, but it’s a shared wall with the safe.”

Eames nodded, running his finger over the tiny space of wall Arthur pointed out. “Might do,” he said. “Better able to hear someone coming from the window there, too.” He looked up and shot Arthur a smile. He looked tired. “Don’t know how I’d do this without you. Can’t read these bloody things.”

Arthur smiled back, pleased. While he couldn’t say planning a robbery was exactly fun, he loved how Eames took his input seriously, even looking to him for ideas. It hadn’t occurred to him before that Eames though he was smart. If anything, he’d thought the opposite.

“You look knackered,” Eames said, reaching his hand to cover Arthur’s. “You want to go get some sleep?”

Arthur nodded. He was tired. He’d worked a full shift, then met Eames to go over the plan. The robbery was just two days out now. “Do...do you want to come with me?” Since he’d walked out while Arthur was on the phone with his father, Eames hadn’t stayed at Arthur’s apartment. They’d seen each other plenty, but it had been on Eames’ turf--diners like this one, or in his cheapish motel room. 

Eames paused, then nodded. “Sure.” 

As they were waiting for their check, Arthur saw Eames’ eyes widen and his shoulders go up. He was looking right past Arthur. Without thinking, Arthur turned to see an older man walking toward their table.

“Eames,” the man said. He didn’t extend his hand, nor did he acknowledge Arthur. “Been a while.”

“Peter,” Eames said, tight-voiced. 

Arthur studied the man quickly. He looked like any other badly-aging lounge lizard--leather skin and cigarette teeth. He was even wearing a tracksuit. He hated himself for thinking it, but Arthur couldn’t help but wonder how many years Eames had before he looked like that.

“Everything going OK?” Peter asked, clearly with no intention to hide the artificiality of the concern. 

“Aces.” Eames met Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur couldn’t read his expression. “If you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.” He seemed poised to rise, even though they hadn’t paid the check. 

Peter moved closer, not actually touching Eames, but standing in the path he’d have to take if he stood. “Surely you aren’t in that much of a hurry?” He smiled. Arthur hated him.

“Was there something you needed?” Eames voice was level and calm, but it had none of its usual humor.

“I can’t just want to catch up with an old friend?” For the first time, Peter glanced at Arthur. “This would be the college boy, then?”

Eames frowned. “This is Arthur. You don’t know him.” 

Peter extended his hand toward Arthur. Arthur simply stared at it until it was retracted. “I’ve heard so much about you,” Peter said mildly, mockingly, seemingly unconcerned about being snubbed. He turned away from Eames completely and focused his watery eyes on Arthur. “You are a pretty one. Just his type, trust fund or not.”

Arthur went cold. He glanced at Eames, but didn’t let his face change. 

“That’s enough,” Eames said, rising now, even though it required pushing Peter a bit out of his way. “You have no idea who Arthur is.”

“Don’t I?” Peter still looked unperturbed. “I thought I’d met him. Or maybe that was the last one. They’re all so similar, you’ll have to pardon an old man for forgetting.” He stepped back, as if to let Eames pass, but kept his arm out so that Eames would have to physically move it to get by. Arthur watched them face off, the hashbrowns and eggs and coffee churning inside him. 

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” There was no calm left in Eames voice, no pretense at civility. He seemed suddenly twice his already broad size. Peter was taller, but it was clear that if Eames decided to move him, he’d be powerless to stop it.

Peter grinned again and dropped his arm, returning his gaze to Arthur. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Do keep your checkbook close.” He winked, then turned and walked away.  
Before Arthur could speak, the waitress returned with their check. Arthur watched without really seeing as Eames handed her some bills. “Keep the change,” he said, his smile automatic. “Come on, darling.”

Arthur felt like a pet of some kind as he rose blindly and followed Eames out the door. His mind turned Peter’s words over carefully, but there was really no way to read them other than the way they’d sounded. The man had either known about Arthur specifically, or he’d been able to guess, based on other things he knew about Eames. Either way, it was bad. Really bad.

On the street, Eames tried to move closer, to pull Arthur toward him. “Let me explain about that,” he began, but Arthur finally found his voice.

“I don’t think you need to explain.” He sounded cold even to his own ears. He pulled free of Eames’ grasp and stepped backward away from him. “That man made himself pretty clear.” He met Eames’ eyes and felt the confused numbness turn to rage. “I’m so sorry the money didn’t come in fast enough for you, but hey, at least you had me around to help with Plan B, right?” He swallowed, forcing his hurt to wait behind his anger. He wasn’t going to cry now. “Fuck you. Get away from me.”

Eames moved toward him and grabbed his shoulder. “No. Fuck. NO, Arthur. It’s not like that. It’s never been like that. I didn’t even know you had money when I started with you. Remember? Don’t be stupid.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You know who I am--I never pretended to be different. But I wasn’t going to steal from you.”

Arthur stared at him, disbelieving. “You expect me to buy that? Jesus Christ, Eames, exactly how stupid do you think I am?” He shook his head, the weight of his own intentional ignorance suddenly bearing down on him. He turned and started to walk away quickly, mindless of direction. He just wanted to get as far from Eames as he could.

Eames followed, overtaking Arthur at the end of the block and pulling him to a stop by one shoulder. “You can’t walk away.” Eames started into Arthur’s face with wild eyes, his mouth tight. “Don’t. Don’t walk away. Please.”

Arthur wanted to stop. He wanted to listen, and to believe whatever Eames had to say. He’d already gone too far down that road though. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. “I should have walked away after the first night in the alley,” he said, quiet. “At least that night you didn’t try to pretend you weren’t using me.”

Something that could have been sadness flashed on Eames’ face, but it was supplanted quickly by a sneer. “That’s fucking rich, posh boy. That was exactly what you wanted. You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing all summer? You want to pretend you’re someone you aren’t, want to roll around down here in the dirt? This is what the scum does, darling. We don’t have daddies on their car phones calling to tell us we’re going to grad school. We make our own way.” He reached out again, and his hand on Arthur’s shoulder wasn’t gentle this time. “I used you? Bullshit, little prince. You knew exactly what I was. You used me.”

Arthur’s mouth hung open for a moment, but he recovered. When he spoke again, his tone was controlled. “I guess you’re right, Eames. I wanted to see what trash was like. And now I know.” 

This time, when Arthur turned to stomp away, Eames didn’t follow.

***

It was stupid, showing his face in the casinos this soon before the robbery. It was also stupid to waste his time gambling when he still hadn’t figured out how the fuck he was going to steal from Saito by himself. But here Eames was anyway, at the blackjack table at the Sands, drunk. Here he was and here he had been for hours. It was economy, he told himself. At the table, the drinks were free.

The hell of it was that he was winning. It shouldn’t surprise him--Lady Luck always had a shit sense of humor. By the time he was properly pissed, he was up nearly a grand. He fingered the chips and nodded his bets, one hand rarely leaving his scotch and soda.

Tomorrow he could get on with telling himself this had nothing to do with Arthur. He could convince himself, just like he would convince everybody else, that Arthur was nothing more than a summer lark, a posh brat to whom he’d taken a shine for a while. It would be believable enough--God knew he’d done it before. Tomorrow he could put away any other feelings he had, and in time he’d remember Arthur only as a mark he failed to land. 

Tonight, though, at this stupid table, with his growing stack of chips mocking him, he wasn’t pretending. Every time his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, he saw Arthur’s body laid out in the sunrise at Red Rock, his charmed, shy smile when he didn’t think Eames was looking. He saw his fierce anger when Eames tried to placate him at the slot machine. He saw his breathless joy on the dance floor. Then, despite himself, he saw Arthur’s face, shocked and then drawn, realizing he’d been played. Before that, Arthur’s slumped shoulders and hushed voice, pretending to his rich father than he was in his apartment alone. 

“Another one, sweetheart?” The waitress leaned over him, her tits brushing gently against his shoulder, to take his glass. She raised her eyebrows. “You look like you’ve had a hard day.”

Eames knew she wasn’t looking at him so much as his big pile of chips. He turned his eyes toward her and made a quick assessment--older than she wanted to appear, and hardened, but still pretty. She knew the game here. Good. “It hasn’t been an easy one, love,” he purred, moving imperceptibly toward her. “Another drink would be lovely.”

He knew before she returned with his next drink how it would play out. He’d keep going until she got off, growing more conservative if he needed to, to ensure he didn’t end the night low. They’d sit at the bar and talk while she counted her tips. He’d buy her a top-shelf drink and tell her stories as he watched her practiced fingers snap the bills into line. Later, with her hands on his prick, he’d watch her talon nails move and think absently about how dirty money can be.


	10. Chapter 10

After a near-sleepless night, Arthur made a decision. He waited until mid-morning, then headed to the hotel where Eames was camped out. It hadn’t occurred to him that when he knocked, there would be no answer. Considering his options, with a feeling of stubborn insistence on carrying the plan he’d settled upon through, Arthur decided to wait.

About an hour later, Eames arrived. His shoulders were hunched, self-protective, and for a moment Arthur worried that he was hurt. When he looked up to see Arthur, though, he straightened. His face was tired, but he didn’t look like he’d been beat up or anything. “Didn’t expect to see you, pet.” He sounded cautious.

Arthur nodded. “I’d like to talk to you. Can I come in?”

Eames raised his eyebrows and put his key in the lock, jerking his head toward the open door.

Eames’ hotel room was very neat. It had been every time Arthur visited. There was something unsettling about it, as if Eames was never more than a few minutes from disappearing completely, without any trace he’d ever occupied it at all. Arthur tried not to think about it as he stood with his back against the metal door. Eames sat on the end of the bed and looked at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he came to say.

“I didn’t come to fight,” Arthur began. “And I didn’t come to forgive you, either.”

Eames smirked. “Don’t remember asking for your forgiveness.”

Arthur frowned, but continued. “I thought about it a lot--all day yesterday and all night night, really--and I think you were right.”

Eames looked inquisitive.

“About me using you. I wanted an adventure. I wanted something new and exciting and just mine.”

Eames nodded, smiling slightly. “That’s not really news, love.”

“Stop interrupting! I’m not done!” Arthur was frustrated.

Eames lifted his hand in a sarcastic gesture. “By all means, continue.”

“That’s all it was, at first,” Arthur said, looking down at his shoes. “Something to do. Something new.” He looked up briefly, meeting Eames’ eyes and then looking away. “But it was more than that, after a while. You...you taught me stuff. You listened to me. And all of a sudden, with you, I wasn’t having this drag summer anymore, where all I did was work and smoke pot. I was having exactly the adventure I came here for.” He took a deep breath. “Remember that first day at the pool, when I was reading Camus?” He didn’t wait for Eames to nod, just kept going. “You asked me if I was searching for my invincible summer. I thought it was a line.”

“It was.” Eames broke in, smirking. 

“Yeah, I know. But it was also true. I was looking for an invincible summer. And it may never have been your goal, but you gave me one.”

Eames didn’t look shocked all that often, but he was shocked now. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off.

“Look, Eames, I’m not stupid. I get that you were playing me. Maybe you still are, and you getting me to believe that I used you too, that you gave me something, is all part of your con. But the thing is? I don’t really care. I don’t trust you. I don’t forgive you. But I do like being with you. And I see no reason to deprive myself of that just because you’re an asshole.”

Eames snorted. “That’s quite some logic.”

Arthur shrugged. “It makes sense to me.” He took a step closer, but just one.

“So what are you saying, exactly?” Eames’ look wasn’t of a man trying to win someone back, but rather one in a negotiation. Arthur wondered if it was intentional. 

“I’m saying I’ll help you tonight.” Arthur set his jaw. “I helped plan it, and I want to see it through. Besides, you can’t do it alone.”

Eames was quiet a long time. He appeared to be considering, and for a moment Arthur thought Eames was really cocky enough to make him beg. Finally, Eames spoke. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I can’t do it alone. And I can’t figure out another option. And it’s too late to find another partner. The truth is that if you don’t help me tonight, I’m either going to get caught, or I’m going to have to run.”

Arthur nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“But this isn’t a game, pet.” Eames’ face twisted, as if he could barely believe what was coming out of his own mouth. “If we get caught, it would mean serving real time--and that’s if we get lucky and get caught by the police and not Saito’s guys.”

Arthur nodded again. “I understand that. I understood that from the beginning.” He smiled slightly. “I’m not sure why I have to keep repeating this, but I’m really not stupid.”

Eames smiled back, just a bit, tentative. “I never thought you were. But you said it yourself, this is new ground for you.” He held Arthur’s gaze. “I’m not going to try to talk you out of it--I need the help too much, and, as you so poetically put it, I’m an arsehole.” He licked his lips. “But Arthur? I’m not worth this risk.”

“I know.” Arthur nodded again, quick and decisive. “I’m doing it anyway. And I have a better plan.”

They spent the afternoon going over Arthur’s plan again and again. The repetition made Arthur calm. It had the opposite effect on Eames, who was pacing and chain-smoking by the second hour. Arthur made small changes, laid out the blueprints again and pointed out alternative exits, thought of potential issues Eames hadn’t ever considered. He was completely focused.

“Jesus,” Eames said, sitting down on the bed again and leaning against the headboard, “you’re a bloody natural.” 

“Hmm?” Arthur said, looking up from the blueprint. “A natural at what?”

“Planning heists, apparently.” Eames reached for his cigarette pack again. “I’ve thought about this for weeks, and I’ve done it before. But you’re running circles around me.” Arthur was never exactly sure, but he seemed to be sincere.

Arthur shrugged. “I like planning. I like seeing how all the pieces fit together. This is just like anything else.”

Eames shook his head again and smiled fondly. “Not really,” he said.

The plan was fairly simple. Saito had two guards traveling with him. When he was in the suite, one was outside and one inside. When he was gambling, one would be in the casino with him, hovering somewhere near the table. The other would be outside the door of his suite. They would be in constant contact, so attempts to incapacitate the door guard, or lure him away, would be noted by the casino guard, and visa versa. The original plan was for Arthur to attempt to distract the door guard in a way that wouldn’t be picked up by the casino guard. What would be better, Arthur suggested, was for him to be a decoy rather than just a distraction. Instead of interacting with the door guard, he’d focus on the casino guard, making him believe he was trying to pull something over on him and thus alerting the door guard. Ideally, the door guard would come down to the casino floor to assist, but even if he didn’t, he would likely not be paying strict attention to what was happening behind the suite door. Eames would come in from the balcony, having broken into the suite next door, crack the safe, and take whatever money and documents were inside.

“Are you sure you can handle whatever safe he’s got?” Arthur asked for the third time. They were both staring at take-out burgers, neither of them really eating.

Eames grinned. “Yes. Breaking into safes is...a bit of an old hat. There’s no reason to believe Saito is using anything other than the standard casino model. Which I’ve hit many times.”

Arthur wondered, for the fiftieth time, just how deep Eames’ criminal activities went. There was no use asking now.

“What about you?” Eames’ brow crinkled. “Distracting the guards is the key part. If the man at the door is paying too much attention, he’s going to know I’m in there, no matter how quiet I am.”

Arthur nodded. “I got it.” He didn’t feel as confident as he sounded, but who ever did?

Arthur waited until Eames confirmed he was in place in the suite next to Saito’s before he ambled onto the casino floor. He was dressed in his suit, trying to pass as someone with enough money to actually gamble here. It wasn’t believable, really, but that was fine, as he wanted to appear to be trying to fit in as much as actually fit in. He took a slow lap. Saito was easy enough to find--a dapper, middle-aged Japanese man in an exquisite suit. His guard wasn’t a challenge either, standing only a few yards away, dressed expensively, and looking around constantly. Arthur could even make out the outline of his gun under his jacket. He was momentarily disappointed; he’d expected Saito to have a more professional set up.

Eames had been doing background research on the security company for weeks, and knew which specific guards Saito employed, but they’d had no way to know which man would be holding which position. To Arthur’s relief, the one on the casino floor was the one Eames had identified as the easier to distract--younger, hot headed, not very smart. Arthur had several possible approaches prepared, but the man’s stance and face told him immediately which one would have the best chance of success. 

Arthur unbuttoned his top two shirt buttons, loosened his tie, and ran his fingers through his hair. If he’d known he was going to go this way, he’d have dressed differently, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He softened his posture and slouched toward the guard, stopping a few feet away and leaning against a pillar, his hip jutting out. “Hey,” he said, in a voice not his own. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

The guard ignored his first few tries, but eventually glanced at him, clearly irritated. Excellent. Arthur wasn’t looking to score here, he was looking to distract. “Look, kid, I’m not interested,” he grunted. Then he said something softly, as if he were talking to himself, listened briefly, then spoke again. Arthur couldn’t spot the microphone, but it was certainly there.

From there, Arthur got more direct. He made his voice low and coy, moving in closer. “I know you’re busy,” he near-whined, “but what time do you get off? We could get a drink.”

The guard spun on him. “I told you to fuck off,” he hissed. “I’m working.” Then he spoke into the mic again, this time making no attempt to hide it. “Just some fag, it’s fine.”

Arthur felt his blood rise. He pushed it down, because he was indeed playing on the homophobia he’d guessed at the man having. He went in closer. “I could make you feel good,” he said, groaning internally. “I saw you looking at me.” 

The guard ignored him and spoke only into the mic. “Little shit isn’t going away, and the boss is starting to look. Is it quiet up there?” After a pause, he continued. “Switch, then? This little bastard is giving me the creeps.” Another pause. “No, don’t want to be out of sight. You come down.” A final pause. “OK.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to keep the smile from his face, then reached into his pocket and pushed the button to send the text he had pre-written on his phone. This was Eames chance.

Arthur stayed close until the guards traded places, keeping up the impression he’d been cultivating. He shot the younger guard a pitiful look as he strode toward the elevator. The man scowled at him. Briefly, Arthur considered boarding the elevator with him and trying to slow him down further, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Hopefully, Eames had enough time.

Once the guard switch was made, Arthur wandered slowly away, not drawing any further attention. The plan was to meet at his apartment. He was nervous now--far more so than he had been before the job, or during his part in it--but he forced himself to behave normally, walking the few blocks to his car, then driving home at a normal speed. 

Then he waited for Eames.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay with me, y'all. There is an epilogue coming!
> 
> Also, be forewarned that this is a pretty filthy one.

The wait was agonizing. Arthur packed and repacked his go bag, adding his laptop to the passport and clothes Eames suggested. They wouldn’t actually need it, Eames promised, but it never hurt to be prepared. Eames had warned him that it would likely be hours--he not only had to get out of the casino undetected, but then had to make the drop. Assuming Eames got what was required, that would be the end of it. But if he hadn’t, Arthur knew he might not be coming back at all.

Finally, a bit after midnight, the apartment door opened. Arthur let out a held breath. Eames looked tired, but jubilant. He nearly ran in, scooping Arthur up from the mattress and swinging him wildly around. “We did it!” he crowed. “Goddamn, Arthur, YOU did it!”

“Jesus, put me down,” Arthur gasped, but he made no move to break Eames’ grip. It felt too good, being in his arms. The whole night felt good--now that it was over, even the growing panic with which he’d waited felt worth it, pushing adrenaline he thought had calmed through his veins once again.

“It went off perfectly!” Arthur had never seen Eames smile so widely. “Like bloody clockwork! How did you distract the bloke in the casino?”

Before Arthur could answer, Eames spoke again. “Nevermind! You can tell me later. We have loads of time. Now we should celebrate!” His grin instantly turned lascivious. “No shag is as good as the one right after you’ve pulled something like this.”

Arthur didn’t bother to think on how Eames knew that, on how many times he’d been in just this position, just this mood. All that mattered to him was the pulse of blood in his veins, the smile on Eames’ face, Eames’ wide fingers already stripping his shirt from his shoulders. There was no way he was going to opt out of this. This was the prize at the end of the race.

Their mouths crashed hard, in a way that would be awkward if they weren’t riding so high. Eames’ teeth pressed against Arthur’s bottom lip, sharp enough to bring forth a copper tang. Arthur didn’t care, pushing his tongue into Eames’ waiting mouth, more aggressive than he’d ever been before. Eames loved it, wrapping his fingers in Arthur’s hair and forcing them even closer together.

“Jesus,” Eames muttered, pulling away to pull his jacket and shirt off. “You do things to me I didn’t know were possible.” He pulled Arthur’s belt from his waist, then nudged Arthur’s foot with his toes. “Take your shoes off. I want you naked.”

Arthur did as he was told, pushing off his shoes and socks, then stepping forward to let Eames unzip his trousers. He’d noticed that Eames liked to undress him, to unwrap him and run his fingers over the soft exposed skin. Arthur didn’t feel passive this time, though. His thrumming body needed more than to lie back and let Eames touch him. He pushed his hands past Eames’, undoing his belt and flies, then pushing hard at the waistband of his trousers. “You need to be naked, too,” he gasped, Eames’ hand finding his cock as he spoke. “Now.”

Eames grinned and stepped out of his trousers, never letting go of where his hand was hot around Arthur’s prick. “Lie down,” he instructed.

Arthur paused. “No.” He met Eames’ eyes. It wasn’t a plan so much as an instant decision, and he hoped he looked more sure than he felt.

Eames frowned. “No?” He looked between their naked bodies, clearly confused. “Did you want to...stand up?” He shrugged. “OK. I can do that.” He moved forward, clearly intending to lift Arthur up.

Arthur held his hands out to stop Eames from grabbing him. “No,” he said, then took a deep breath. “I want...I want you to lie down.”

Eames cocked an eyebrow, curious. “And then?” he said.

“And then...I want to fuck you.”

Arthur had only topped a few times, and only with the sexually confused grad student. For the most part, his lovers had either avoided anal penetration completely, or insisted on being the penetrator. Arthur didn’t mind--he loved to be fucked. But suddenly, in that moment, it felt important that Eames know he was capable, that he wasn’t always passive.

Eames titled his head, considering. “Have you done it before?”

Arthur nodded. There was no reason to tell him how infrequently.

Finally, Eames shrugged. “Been a long time, for me. But sure, if that’s what you want.” He crawled onto the bed, giving Arthur a long, unobstructed view of his ass before he stretched out on his back. “Come give us a snog first though, hmm?”

Arthur smiled and crawled on top of him.

They kissed a long time, moving from the intensity with which they’d started to something slower and sweeter. Eames’ hands never stopped, touching Arthur everywhere. Finally, lips near-numb and balls beginning to ache, Arthur pulled away “I’m going to get the lube now, OK?” He felt stupid asking, but he couldn’t help but give Eames an avenue to change his mind.

“Of course.” Eames still looked vaguely amused at the whole proposition, but not unhappy with it. Arthur leaned across him and grabbed the box on the floor where they’d been tossing their supplies, removing the lube and a condom.

“How...how do you want to do this?” Arthur hated how nervous he suddenly was. It wasn’t that big a deal. Eames did it all the time.

“It’s your show, love.” Eames reached for the lube, popping the cap with this thumb. “But why don’t I get you started?”

Arthur hadn’t intended on watching, eyes wide, as Eames slipped a slick finger inside himself. Once it was happening, though, he forgot to move, or even to breathe. Eames stayed on his back, his knees bent, legs spread wide. He wasn’t gentle, but he did take his time, working the finger in slowly, breathing with it. Arthur was mesmerized.

“Much as I enjoy being your one-man sex show,” Eames said, his voice a little breathless, “you could come up here instead.”

Arthur did as he was asked, shuffling forward on his knees, then leaning over and kissing Eames hard again, trailing down his neck, sucking a bruise into his collar bone. Eames turned his head, unexpected, and mouthed at Arthur’s hip. “Let me just…” he said, pressing into Arthur with his face until he could get just the leaking tip of Arthur’s cock between his lips.

Arthur threw his head back and moaned, a sound he would have been embarrassed about once. He would have been embarrassed by all of this once, by his desire and his wide stare and Eames’ fingers, pushing in harder now, working himself open. He wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

Eames gave up trying to suck Arthur’s cock and open himself at the same time, laying back against the pillow and focusing again on his fingers. Arthur bent down, kissing down Eames’ chest, over his fuzzy belly. He nibbled at the tattoos at Eames’ hip bones, then brought Eames’ prick between his lips. He didn’t suck hard--he wanted to make Eames come while he was fucking him, not before--but he teased, licking and kissing. Eames’ undulated, moving between his fingers and Arthur’s mouth.

Finally, Eames used his clean hand to push Arthur’s head gently away. “Getting too good,” he muttered. “I’m ready.”

“OK.” Again, Arthur felt awkward.

Eames grinned. “This is the bit where you put the condom on your lovely dick and push it inside me.”

Arthur shuddered. No matter how often he did it, the effect of Eames talking never waned. “Right,” he said, pushing back up onto his knees and reaching for the foil packet. “How...how do you want it?”

“How about just like this?” Eames spread his legs even wider, the invitation open. He was so sure of himself, so unworried.

Arthur nodded, and after the condom was on, he positioned himself between Eames bent knees, lining up with where Eames’ fingers were still slowly moving in and out.

“Don’t be worried,” Eames said. “I can see that wrinkle between your eyes. You’re not going to hurt me.”

A tiny flash of anger passed through Arthur, there and then gone. _I could hurt you,_ he thought. _Don’t be so confident._ It wasn’t what he wanted to feel, though, and he smothered it as soon as it reared up. “OK,” he said again, lowering his hand and grasping Eames’, pulling his fingers gently out. “OK.”

Arthur pushed in very slowly the first time, as much for himself as for Eames. He remembered enough to know how different this was from a hand or a mouth around your cock, how tight and hot and intense it could be, and he didn’t want to shoot off immediately. It was just as he remembered, only more so. “JesusfuckingChrist,” he breathed, “OhmyfuckingGod.”

Eames was licking his lips, his eyes tightening, then slowly relaxing. His body tensed, then was pliant. “There you are,” he murmured when Arthur was finally all the way in. “Look at you.” He rocked gently, moving Arthur inside him only minutely. “Are you ready to move?”

“Give me a minute,” Arthur gritted between clenched teeth, still trying to maintain control. “Just a minute.”

“OK.” Eames grinned, but he wasn’t poking fun. He just looked happy. He looked glad that Arthur was inside him, that his body was open to Arthur. The feeling was incredible.

Eventually, Arthur started to move. He used his hands to brace himself against Eames’ knees and pushed a bit harder on each thrust. Eames vocally approved, spewing profanity and praise, just as he did when he was the one on top.

For a while, Arthur looked down, watching his cock push in and pull out of Eames’ body, but it made him near-dizzy, so he looked back up and watched Eames face. His eyes were closed, nothing showing on his gorgeous features but pleasure. _I want this so much,_ Arthur thought, turning near frantic, pushing in harder and faster. _I don’t want this to end._

“Christ, Arthur!” Eames’ eyes popped open. “I need your hand.”

It took Arthur a moment to realize what Eames was asking for, as the blood was rushing loud in his ears, his body seeming to move on its own. “Oh. Oh. Right.” He reached between them, using his thumb to rub the wetness from the tip of Eames’ cock down the shaft again and again before taking it fully in hand.

Eames was loud--as loud as Arthur ever heard him. He threw his head back into the dank pillow, his mouth open, his eyes closed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he chanted, and “yesyesyesyes.”

Eames unbridled enthusiasm, the movement of his Adam’s apple in his tensed throat, the steel hardness of his cock in Arthur’s hand, were all more than Arthur could take. His orgasm pulsed through him, wave after wave. He tried to keep his hand moving on Eames’ prick, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t make his body obey his brain. Eames’ hand closed over his, and after a few more strokes, his eyes still closed, his chest still heaving, Arthur felt Eames spill over their fists.

They were quiet for a long time, lying together on the mattress, breathing. Finally, Arthur propped himself on one elbow. “Why didn’t we ever do that before?”

Eames turned only his eyes toward Arthur, his body still limp. “You never mentioned it.”

“Neither did you,” Arthur pointed out. “I assumed...you didn’t like it.”

Eames shrugged one shoulder and turned his head a bit in Arthur’s direction. “I’m not particularly fond of it, in general,” he said. Then he smiled and turned his head the rest of the way. “But I am very, very fond of you. So that’s all right, then.”

Arthur’s chest swelled. “You are such a fucking con man.”

Eames raised his eyebrows. “Guilty,” he acknowledged. “Now come here.”

When they first started sleeping together, Arthur was horrified by Eames’ willingness to cuddle and even sleep covered in drying bodily fluids. It barely phased him now. He laid his head against Eames’ chest and Eames pulled him in with one strong arm.

“You really were amazing tonight,” Eames said, his voice low, his lips nearly in Arthur’s hair. “Changing the plan, and then pulling it off like you were born to it.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want to do next, Arthur, but...if you wanted to...we could work together. Pull more jobs. Have some real adventures.”

Maybe because he couldn’t see Eames’ face, Arthur heard more in his voice than usual. He didn’t sound cocky, or self-assured, or anything other than terrified, really. When Arthur didn’t answer, he spoke again. “I know I’m not what you had in mind. I’m not the guy you bring home to your nice, rich parents. But I don’t think that’s what you want. I think you want fun, and danger, and a challenge. And that, Arthur? That’s exactly what I am.” He sighed again. “I’m not going to make any promises. I’ll get you in trouble and I’ll piss you off and I’ll disappoint you, eventually. But I’d like to have you with me, all the same.”

This pause sounded final, and Eames’ body tensing under Arthur was unmistakable. “OK,” Arthur said, slowly. “I...I’d like that.”

Eames hugged him closer and smiled into his hair. “OK,” he said, softly, repeating. “OK.”

They talked for hours, about where they might go, what they might do. Arthur told Eames how much he wanted to return to Europe, to see art again, and Eames told him about a fence he knew in Paris, dealing in stolen antiques. Eventually, they showered, ate cold pizza, and fucked again, this time slowly, their mouths on each other. It was near daylight when Eames finally fell asleep, Arthur’s head once again on his chest.

Arthur waited a long time, listening to Eames breathe. He heard him move from light, early sleep into a deeper sleep, then pushed himself up and watched the movement behind Eames’ eyelids for a while. When he glanced at his phone, he saw it was nearly 6am. Quietly, he extracted himself from Eames’ embrace, found his clothes, and dressed.

Arthur didn’t stop or look back until he was at the door, his go bag over his shoulder, his car keys in his hand. He thought for a moment about leaving a note, but there was really nothing to say. At the last minute, he snagged Eames’ cigarettes and lighter from the windowsill.

Arthur held his breath until he was out of the apartment complex parking lot, and didn’t think to turn on the radio for miles. He stopped for coffee and gas just outside the city, then drove, dry-eyed and determined. He didn’t stop again until he was back in Los Angeles, nearly 300 miles of desert behind him, and the rest of his life ahead.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thank you all so much for reading! For those who liked the ending of the last chapter and thought it should end there, I encourage you to just skip the epilogue. I went back and forth about what I wanted to do, but I eventually decided to end this the way I'd originally outlined it, staying "true" to my original plan. I am not sure if that was the right decision or not, but here it is--the promised happy ending.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs, and sighed. One more undergrad to hand-hold, and then he could go home. His own classes were nearly finished, and with his summer internship working on public art installations in Prague drawing closer, he was anxious for the whole grad school experience to be finished.

He couldn’t say he'd enjoyed it--he’d taken a ridiculous course load in order to finish early and it had been non-stop stress. Once he had a direction, though, he hadn’t minded the work so much. It was good to have something to focus on, something that was a challenge. In truth, a lot of it was boring, but he’d mostly been able to keep the end goal in mind and push through.

The student meeting was much like any other. Questions about the form of the exam and the length of the final paper. Dr. Cobb, for whom Arthur was a TA, was notoriously vague about these things, so it was up to Arthur to provide the students with the specificity they needed. 

Arthur biked home through a misty early evening rain, making a quick stop at the Berkeley Bowl for fresh vegetables. He’d cook a stir-fry for dinner. As he rode toward his apartment, he thought about his to-do list for the evening, the papers he needed to read and the potential landlord in Prague he should email. There wasn’t a ton to do, he might be able to squeeze in a movie. He thought briefly of calling Theo, the man he’d been halfheartedly dating for the last couple of months. He’d like to get laid, but not the drama that would come with it. Theo wanted a commitment, a promise that they’d stay together when Arthur left for the summer, that they’d move in together when he returned. It wasn’t going to happen, but so far Arthur had successfully avoided having to say that aloud. Like most things, it just didn’t seem to be worth the trouble. 

Arthur lived on the top floor of a triplex. It wasn’t a great place, but it wasn’t bad. At the gate, he hopped off his bike and steered it into the yard toward the little shed. As he did, he caught something out of the corner of his eye--movement, around the side of the house. He tensed, ready to get jumped. He’d been mugged his first week in Berkeley, some high kid sucker punching him and stealing his wallet as he walked blindly down Telegraph, lost in his own thoughts. This time would be different. 

When Arthur turned, though, the movement had stilled. Leaning against the peeling siding, toothpick stuck between his teeth and unsure look on his features, was Eames.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Arthur muttered. His squeezed his eyes shut momentarily against the shock. “What the fuck…?”

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Eames asked, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s as good a start as any. I’m here to see you.”

Arthur nodded, feeling dumb. “Right.” Automatically, he opened the shed and locked up his bike. “OK. Do you...do you want to come up?” He gestured toward the house. 

Eames smiled. “Yes. Please.”

Arthur silently led Eames up the narrow stairs to his apartment. With Eames behind him and unable to see his face, he worked hard to school his features into something resembling casual, polite disinterest. When he turned to get his keys from his backpack, he noticed Eames’ obvious ogling at his ass. He willed himself not to blush. 

Inside, Arthur threw his keys on to the counter and watched Eames look around. The apartment was small--just a little kitchen/living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom--but it suited Arthur well enough. It was tidy and sparse, with a decent TV and couch and a lot of books. There were a few pieces on the walls, mostly architectural drawings, but no photographs. Arthur liked to keep things just a bit impersonal. 

As Eames looked around, Arthur took stock of him. He looked different. He wasn’t so tan as he’d been, and his shoulders seemed broader, his arms thicker. He was wearing jeans, trainers, a hoodie. He seemed younger. 

“Lovely flat,” Eames said, finally. He still looked hesitant.

“Do you want a beer or something?” Given that he had no idea what to say, Arthur figured manners were the best option.

“Sure, if you’ve got one,” Eames smiled for the first time. 

As he retrieved two beers from the fridge, Arthur tried to think of something to say next. Since he didn’t come up with anything, it was lucky he didn’t have to. After tipping the bottle to his mouth once, Eames took a deep breath and looked at him. “I guess you want to know why I’m here. Is now a good time for us to talk?”

His manner was as different as his appearance. Arthur saw none of the cocksure casualness with which Eames had been marked in his memory. Had he been remembering wrong, or was this something new? Some sort of new con? Slowly, Arthur nodded. Now was as good a time as any. 

“OK,” Eames said. He met Arthur’s gaze and held it. “First, I want to apologize.”

Arthur broke in. “You didn’t do anything you need to apologize for.” He’d given this quite a bit of thought, for the first few months after he left Las Vegas. Ultimately, all Eames had done was be who he was, who he’d told Arthur he was from the first. Arthur’s decisions were his responsibility.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry,” Eames continued. “I could have gotten you into a lot of trouble.” 

Arthur shook his head. “I made my own decisions.” 

Eames shrugged. “Fair. But I still…” He looked even more apprehensive, so nervous he might just bolt from the room. “I didn’t treat you the way I should have.” He licked his lips and paused. “When I woke up, and you were gone, I tried to convince myself you’d just popped out for coffee. But I knew. Before I even had my eyes all the way open, I knew you were gone. And I knew I deserved it.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. Leaving Eames in his Vegas apartment, even though it had been more than a year ago now, was still something he tried not to think too hard about. He knew had had to do it, and he was glad to have done it, but it was the most miserable thing he’d ever forced himself to do.

“I took me a while,” Eames continued, his voice a bit stronger the more he spoke. “I went hard for a few months. Got into even worse scrapes.” He shook his head and frowned. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about how I felt when I was with you, like...like I could be someone else. And be them for real, not just for a con.” He squared his shoulders. “So I stopped. I got my shit together. I stopped gambling. I stopped drugging. I stopped drinking for a while.” He raised the beer bottle and took another swallow. “That seemed like going too far, though, so I just cut back.” He smiled. “I got a straight job. I started going to the gym. I got a real apartment.”

Arthur looked puzzled. “That’s...that’s great?” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be...proud? Though he struggled not to show it, his actual feelings were much more complicated. It was true that Eames looked fantastic--healthy and gorgeous--but Arthur just couldn’t imagine him living the way he was describing. Didn’t want to imagine it.

Eames continued. “I did it for a while. Made sure I could stick to it. Then I went and found your friend, Ariadne.” 

The confused frown line between Arthur’s eyes deepened. “Ariadne? What for?” He’d kept in contact with Ari, though just via the occasional email or text. She hadn’t mentioned Eames.

“To see where you were,” Eames said. “She didn’t want to tell me, but I convinced her.” 

Arthur nodded. “OK...so you’ve found me. Now what? Did you just want to tell me you’ve cleaned up?” His voice was curt, but it was more a result of the confused cascade of emotions running through him than anything.

Eames nodded. “Yes. I wanted to show you I could.” He took a long breath. “And I wanted to ask for another go.”

Arthur’s heart sped up and his mouth went dry, but he didn’t speak.

“Look, Arthur, I know you didn’t want me the way that I was in Vegas, and I don’t blame you. That was the right decision. But...if I can be different, if I can go straight...what about then? I feel like we could make something of it. If you were willing.”

Arthur was quiet, stunned. His head spun. This new Eames, with his subdued manner and his real job, was asking him to try again. To be with him. In Arthur’s many fantasies, this wasn’t how it happened. He thought for a moment, but his instincts overrode his brain, as they had so many times with Eames. Thoughts of “should” and “best” and “smart” were overridden by much stronger, more primal desires. 

Arthur stepped forward, closing the distance between them and crowding Eames against the kitchen counter. He said nothing, just reached to hold Eames’ face in his hands, to run his thumbs over the remembered stubble. He kissed Eames softly, then harder, not with any malice, but with considerable heat.

Finally, he pulled away, eyes on Eames’ face, and said, “no.”

Eames swallowed hard and nodded, looking around as if trying to find an escape route, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Of course,” he said. “It’s too late. I get that.” He forced a smile. “Had to try though, didn’t I? You’re...you’re really something, Arthur. Anybody would be lucky…”

Arthur cut through Eames’ fumbling speech. “No to going straight,” he said. “No to real jobs and real apartments.” He reached back up and stroked down Eames’ cheek again, not missing how Eames leaned into it. “No to you asking for things instead of taking them.” He smiled, building up steam. “No to fucking grading papers and making stir-fry and being a fucking intern!” He grabbed Eames' hips and pulled himself closer, until their bodies were flush. Eames reacted immediately, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist, even as his face remained hesitant. “I want you,” Arthur said. “I never stopped wanting you. I had to try this, I had to know if the way I felt with you, like I finally knew what I wanted and where I belonged, was real. I had to make sure it wasn’t just me being bored or insecure or mad at my father or whatever.” Arthur shook his head, amazed at the feelings he’d had for months, finally forming words. “But I don’t want you like this, with your tail between your legs.”

Eames started to speak, clearly offended, but Arthur shushed him and continued. “I’m impressed, Eames. I’m impressed and I’m flattered that you did all this. But I want who you really are. I want the thief and the conman. I want to go to Europe and steal art and see everything. I want to set fires and run. I want to be your partner.”

Eames’ eyes were wide. He looked around the room. “But you’ve got this,” he said. “Your school and your career about to start. Ariadne said you were doing really well.”

Arthur shrugged. “I am. But it’s never really been me. It’s something I did, and I learned a few things, but...it’s not the life I want.”

Eames’ still looked confused and cautious. “But you have...vegetables?” He indicated the shopping bag. “And a bicycle and a cable bill and…”

“And I’m so fucking bored I could scream,” Arthur finished, smiling. The more he spoke, the truer he knew it to be. He’d been waiting around, doing what he was supposed to, for months. It wasn’t what he wanted. If he kept doing it, he’d end up just as depressed and destructive as he had been when he met Eames. 

“Look,” Arthur said slowly, thinking as he spoke, “I don’t want to be your protege, and I don’t want to be your piece of young ass on the side…”

Eames interrupted. “Darling, that’s not how I think of you!”

Arthur put a finger over Eames’ lips. “Shut up and listen. I want to be with you. But I want to be equal. Your partner. No lying. If I start thinking I’m your mark, that we’re not in it together, I’ll be gone again. And this time, I’ll take my half.”

Eames grinned. “I wondered if you’d be wanting that.”

“I’m sure you can work it off.” Arthur raised his eyebrows in an imitation of Eames’ own leer. Eames’ makeover hadn’t extended to his wonky teeth. Thank God.

Eames shook his head. “Are you serious? Really?” 

“Yeah, I am. But if you don’t want that, if you want to stay straight, I respect that.”

“Oh God, no!” Eames nearly shouted. “I did this because I thought it was the only way I had a chance at you.” He shook his head. “I’ve done OK, making a go of it straight. Better than I expected. But it’s never gonna be who I am.” He looked serious again. “But if it’s who you are, Arthur, that’s OK...really.”

Arthur scowled. “Have you not been listening?” He pulled their bodies even closer, grinding himself against Eames with intention. “Eames, would I be a good criminal?”

Eames widened his eyes and shook his head in awe. “Arthur, you’d be a fucking great criminal.”

“And do you want to be with me, to be partners? No bullshit, in it together?”

Eames nodded. “God, yes. Yes.”

“Then why are we still talking about it?” Arthur smiled, full dimples showing. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress, and then I want to eat, and then I want to decide where we’re going.”

“Don’t you have to...I don’t know, finish school first?” Eames looked overwhelmed. Happy, but overwhelmed.

Arthur grinned again, and Eames couldn’t help but reach a finger out to run over his dimpled cheek. “Mr. Eames,” he said, “I’m fairly sure we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to do. Now, are you going to give me what I want?”

Eames thought, wildy, as they careened toward the bed, that he could quite happily spend forever making sure Arthur got exactly what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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